New Marvel: The Silver Knight
by CDrake
Summary: In the aftermath of Captain America's death at the end of the Superhuman Civil War, the Superhuman Registration Act has been defeated on the floor of Congress. At the same time, on a cliffside in St. Petersburg, Russia, a young prodigy whose actions have had a great part in bringing about this effect is about to become so much more.
1. The Origins of Silver Knight

2 years after the Battle of New York

"You will pledge to cancel your trade deal with the Americans, Ambassador Janovich, or there will be consequences. Do not underestimate us, Mr. Ambassador, and do not attempt to subvert this agreement in any way. Failure to comply will result in a tragedy I believe both of us would very much like to avoid. Your dear Elana is a precious soul, so full of life. I would truly hate to rob her of that so early in her life. You have until midnight."

Nathan Gray stared at the now-black screen that had just delivered that chilling threat to the Janovich household with a grim expression, hand tucked under the tip of his chin. Midnight. Just two hours from now. His piercing blue eyes turned to Elana's considerably frightened parents.

"When was this delivered?"

The father gulped down tears, and the mother drew back in sobs. "Just after seven." Dammit. Just as Nathan had thought, the kidnappers made the video just after they grabbed Elana. Just after they snatched her right out of my hands. Guilt racked him at not being able to prevent her abduction, despite being at her side, at the scene of the crime. They had been separated briefly when he went to distract the mercenaries that attacked, trying to give her the chance to bolt as he held them back. He looked at the girl's parents. They can't know that. They can't know I already failed them.

To them, he was only Elana's rich American boyfriend, a young, restless soul who decided to study abroad in St. Petersburg and now found himself embroiled in a plot to undermine the economic future of Russia. The truth they didn't know, that they could never know, was that Nathan was neither restless nor studying abroad. Hell, my name isn't even Gray. The man they thought they knew was actually a sixteen-year-old boy prodigy who was heir to a vast empire of wealth and technology. That's if Dad hasn't disowned me over…

He pushed the thought away, focusing on the crisis at hand.

"Look," he said, more to the father than the girl's hysterical mother, "I know how scared you are right now, but trust me when I tell you that there's still hope."

"I know. Because I'm going to do exactly what they're asking for."

Nathan shook his head with a grim expression. "I've dealt with men like this before, believe it or not. All they want is their objective. They couldn't care less about Elana, or you. As soon as they have what they want, it's a fifty-fifty toss-up whether they keep her alive or not."

"And if I don't comply, it's a one-hundred percent chance they'll kill her." The man's hopeless expression tore at Nathan. If I were in his position, I might think the same. What he didn't know was that there was a third option, with much higher chances he would get to see his daughter again.

"I know a man, a friend, someone who specializes in resolving situations like this without innocent casualties."

The Russian dignitary furrowed his eyebrows and locked his eyes onto Nathan's face, hoping against hope that Nathan was telling the truth. "Was he there when you dealt with the...situation like this?"

Nathan cocked his head slightly, pondering how to answer for barely a moment before responding. "Yes. That's when I first met him." For the first time in his dark visit to the panic-struck household, Elana's mother stopped sobbing and looked at him intently. "I'm going to find him. Whatever you do, do not, do not give them what they want. Stall for as much time as you can."

The mother looked desperately at her husband, and Nathan sincerely hoped he could hold out until he could execute his plan. The look the man gave her was one that begged for her trust, and she gave it.

"All right," the ambassador said, "I'll give you as much time as I can, but come midnight, I will give my pledge."

Nathan nodded. "Of course, Mr. Ambassador. Family always comes first." The teen left the house in a hurry, mounting into his high-speed sedan and pushing the engine to the limit trying to thin the hour-long gap and reach his home, a three-story house on the waterfront that sported a cliffside walkway and a lower level etched into the cliff wall. On that lower level was a warehouse, abandoned and deteriorated due to neglect when he'd found it, but now almost fully restored just over a month after arriving in St. Petersburg. As he drove his sedan into the house's driveway, his heart and mind raced as he ran all his options through his head.

The police were obviously out, as were any other state authorities. They wouldn't be able to get anywhere near where the mercs were holding the girl without being spotted. By the time they could reach her, the mercs would slit her throat. He wasn't sure any team short of the Avengers or SHIELD could resolve this without the girl's death. And now that the Avengers are splintered and SHIELD is just calming down from hunting down dissenters, they don't give a rat's ass about stuff like this. To them, in Nathan's mind, the kidnapping of a Russian ambassador's daughter was small game compared to superhuman fugitives running around with impunity after kicking SHIELD and the government in the teeth. To the teen genius, it was shameful for heroes to turn on each other over an issue where the government was clearly in the wrong, then insist on pursuing the eventual victors simply because they resisted.

Even after the Superhuman Registration Act was defeated on Capitol Hill when Tony Stark, the acting Director of SHIELD while Colonel Fury was...absent, dropped his support for the bill, the U.S. government insisted that SHIELD apprehend dissenting heroes. Tony, of course, assured them that wasn't necessary, but they had to save face. Stark was, as a result of his reticence, forced to step down as temporary director, and Maria Hill reluctantly took the position, carrying out her orders despite her own reservations about the justice of the situation. Thankfully, Fury returned just in time to give the government his timeless "I-don't-care-how-stupid-they-made-you-look-stay-the-hell-away-from-the-heroes" speech and call off the manhunt.

Guess that means I can go home now, too. But Nathan wouldn't. Not for a while. He may not be a target for SHIELD or the government, but he wasn't sure he could face his father, not after he almost…

Snap out of it, moron. Focus. Nathan cursed himself for getting lost in the past while he was trying to find a way to save his kidnapped girlfriend's future. Taking a hidden elevator to his workshop in the warehouse, Nathan strode over to a particular device that he'd barely touched. An instant after his finger flicked the "on" switch, the holoprojector flashed to life, showing him a blue-tinted 3D image of his last project. He flicked his hand over it, shoving in back into its virtual folder for future reference. Might just need that later.

Instead, he used its connection to his nearby computer to pull up a 3D map of the location where the mercs were holding Elana. Gonna be a lot tougher than I thought. The former industrial complex was littered with smaller buildings, trailers, catwalks, and other structures all near or connected to the gigantic main factory. To add further headache to the situation, the entire complex was situated on an artificial island on the east side of Lake Ladoga, a gigantic body of water whose eastern end was over 180 km to the east of St. Petersburg, with only one bridge and one dock, both of which he was sure were being watched. So essentially, the only way I get on the island without getting myself or Elana killed is…

His eyes went wide in realization, and he looked to another section of his workshop, the one with triple-encrypted security and an active AI keeping watch over his most recent and prized projects. By air. He stood up and walked over to the other section's entrance, pausing at the sealed door for a moment to let the scanners recognize his biometrics.

"Identity confirmed," a familiar digital voice said, "welcome back, sir."

Nathan nodded in response and strode through the now-open door past a defunct iteration of what he was going to use to rescue Elana. Well, it's not so much defunct as it is locked from my use. Filing that thought away, he approached the tank containing the focus of his thoughts and keyed it open. The vertical doors of the container opened sideways and revealed the tank's contents. Taking a deep breath, Nathan steeled himself for what he had to do and tried to push away the growing apprehension at beta testing his first iteration. The Mark I still has so many bugs in it, and I've been working with substandard materials at best. It could power down on me, or the servos could get stuck. or…

He growled at himself to stop the chain of excuses. None of that matters-I need to save Elana. He reached for the first piece of her salvation, holding it in front of his head, its eyes staring him in the face like a death mask. No matter the cost.

Ten minutes later

"Power supply," Nathan asked his AI companion, who responded in an affirmative. "Hull integrity?"

"One-hundred percent, sir."

"Weapon systems."

"Loaded and configured."

"Targeting."

"Uploaded and synched to your HUD and weapons."

"Automatic assembly." A pause this time.

"Untested, sir."

Nathan snorted. Great. So I may not even get the chance to save her. Not if this damn thing crushes me first. "Just a risk I have to take, J. Power it up." A second later, a glow emitted from a circular source on Nathan's project. He picked it up and mounted it on his chest, the underside of it pivoting before he pressed the overside against his torso, attaching to his back and sealing its sides with the front. He picked up the two shoulder pads and held them in their places, waiting for the motors to stop moving before picking up the boots. His legs slipped into them up to their knees without issue, as the boot expanded to accommodate his entry, then tightened to keep him in.

His hands grasped the upper legs, and his eyes watched as they connected to the knee plates, expanding upwards to meld together at his lower torso, completely sealing his lower body in polyresin iron. Nathan picked up the arm plates one by one and drew them over his arms, letting them connect to the shoulder before trying his full range of motions with his armored upper and lower body. Satisfied that he was adequately flexible, he reached for the final piece and held it in both hands, turning the faceplate away from him and lowering it onto his head. When its joints contracted and attached to the upper neck of the armor, he looked down at the table and saw it was empty.

That's it. I'm in, and nothing's broken. His eyes scanned to his left, and he approached the mirror on the nearby wall. Always takes my breath away. In the mirror was a reflection not of a man, but a six-foot two metal warrior sealed in 180 lbs of silver-sapphire colored polyresin iron armor. Been over a year since I first saw this up close. I'm ready.

"Jarvis, bring all systems online." One by one, his HUD targeting, power monitors, and other virtual systems came to life, flooding his viewscreen with a sea of colors and data. He inspected the display for a few seconds before smiling at the results of his handiwork. You taught me well, Dad. "All right. Let's do this."

"Yes sir," the digital voice in his ear said.

Nathan turned toward the cliff-side wall of the warehouse and started walking toward it. "Jarvis, open the bomb bay doors." A sharp hiss was heard from the direction of Nate's destination as the AI obeyed. The armor's legs started moving faster, his slow walk turning into a fast one, then a jog, then an all-out sprint as he ran toward the ten-foot-long opening in the ground, a 200-foot drop awaiting him on the other end. As he neared it, he leapt forward in an armored swan dive, dropping through the hole like a missile and free-falling 100 feet before flexing his fingers and telling the neural net to kick into gear.

A slight jolt was felt in his palms and heels as his propulsion systems jumped online, propelling him further toward the sea until he shifted the direction of his palms, turning him upward and skirting the brim of the water. He stayed at that altitude for a few more seconds, getting a feel for the flight controls, then shifted further upward, jetting into the sky at an angle and adjusting his course for Lake Ladoga.

Hang on, girl. I'm coming. As he reached an altitude of 6000 feet, he brought his hands closer to his sides and flexed them more, causing the armor's afterburner to kick in and accelerate him past the speed of sound.

8 minutes later

The mercenary captain fingered the tip of his ten-inch blade as Elana watched him from her chair. The man had an aura of cool menace about him, like a tiger standing watchfully on all fours, not sprung for action, but so elementally dangerous that it doesn't matter. Fear was very prevalent in her mind as the midnight deadline drew ever nearer. The captain had received no calls, seen no public announcements, not even an acknowledgement that her family had heard the message. Daddy'll sort this out, she thought. He has to. The college sophomore girl wasn't ready to die.

Suddenly, the captain hissed in impatience and stood up straight, his right hand still holding the hilt of his knife. "Your father's stalling." He looked at her. "I think it's time I give him more incentive. He strode over to her and crouched down, his left hand tracing its way over her right arm as he looked into her eyes menacingly. "So, princess." He raised the knife. "What should I cut off first?"

Her eyes and mouth widened in horror, but before she could respond, half the windows behind the captain were shattered. The mercs had kept her in the factory's control room, a virtually-integrated office that once held the hardware and software to keep the industrial plant running smoothly, for two reasons. One: it was a vantage point from which the captain could watch the entire island and surrounding activities-essentially see any would-be rescuers before they even got close. Two: it was twelve stories up, well out of the reach of any team that did manage to get through the perimeter defenses. They would never have penetrated the factory itself.

So, when half the windows behind the captain burst with a sheer concussive force that also knocked him forward, he was very surprised. That is, up to the moment when his considerably hard head hit the steel arm of the girl's chair, instantly knocking him unconscious. Elana gaped at his limp body, then looked toward the blown-out windows, her ears just beginning to hear the sound of automatic gunfire from below. Her mind raced with so many questions, but one seemed to rise to the top of the list: how?

9 minutes after Nathan's departure

There's the island, Nathan thought as he took a deep breath to calm his frayed nerves. "Jarvis, switch to infrared." His viewscreen suddenly turned from his normal vision to a black-and-white picture that seemed to be perpetually out of focus. Of course, that was because what he was seeing was not light, but heat. He scanned the factory and surrounding buildings for any sign of Elana, finding only the husky white blobs of mercenaries and their weapons. Damn it, girl, where are they keeping you? Nathan recalled his years-long training, cycling through his various instructors before he came to the lesson he needed.

Where would I stay if I wasn't in armor and was trying to protect something from an invader? Immediately, his eyes darted upward, alighting on the twelfth floor of the factory's main building, where two heat signatures could be clearly seen. Of course. The last thing anyone expects is to be hit from the air. Probably, he mused, why no one ever bothers to look up.

Nathan adjusted his course to do a quiet fly-by of the tower and switched his infrared off, confirming his assumption. The merc captain had crouched in front of his girl and was holding something in his right hand. As his viewscreen zoomed in, a flash of panic soon overcome by rage went through him.

How dare he? Nathan jetted straight toward the tower, slowing down as he got closer to target the captain with his weapon systems, then decided against it. He's too close to her. None of my weapons can fire that precisely. His vision shifted to the windowpane just twelve feet behind him, the only thin wall of protection for the merc, and he smiled as the targeting reticle on his HUD shifted there, aiming at the lower sill. He raised his right arm in front of him as he slowed into a hovering position, his fingers splayed and palm facing outward.

"Jarvis, low intensity, maximum concussion." He felt his armored palm adjust slightly as his right repulsor's aperture shifted according to his beam specifications. His fingers flexed, and the armor responded with a charging whine. A second later, a concentrated beam of kinetic energy discharged from his palm and blew through the three central windows on the wall between him and the captain, the leftover kinetic energy slamming into the husky merc and pummeling his head against the arm of Elana's chair. Better than you deserve, you bloodthirsty jerk.

As she stared at the shattered windows, gaping, he lowered himself almost to the window before automatic gunfire pinged off his armor from below. Damn! Must've heard my intervention. He jetted into the sky, doing a midair somersault before diving toward the ground and over two dozen armed mercenaries. He smiled maliciously. Time to show them what I can do. His palms stretched toward the ground, rapidly decelerating his descent and causing him to land on the ground feet-first, crouching on impact and letting their automatic salvo hammer his armor uselessly for a few more seconds before standing up straight and facing his palm toward the nearest merc.

A concentrated beam of force blasted him back fifteen feet, followed by another directed at his partner. Nathan's hands faced in every direction, delivering kinetic hammer blows to every merc in sight. His fists clenched as he finished the last soldier in sight, leaving a pile of broken, half-dead mercenaries lying on the ground unconscious. Nathan heard the roar of a large vehicle coming in his direction and flexed his fingers, palms pointed downward as he rose into the air to get a bird's eye view. Woah! The armor's throttle flared as he barely dodged a rocket-propelled grenade launched in his direction from the passenger seat of a Russian military jeep while a man in the back of the vehicle manned a .50 caliber mounted gun and pointed it in his direction.

Nathan jetted through the air, dodging automatic fire as he flew past the car, readjusting midair to face his opponents. No more holding back. He raised his right arm, deploying the B-50 minigun in the top of his armor's forearm and squeezing his right index, firing a steady stream of 5mm rounds at 1000 rounds a minute. The mercs in the front seats scrambled out of the car as their gunner friend was cut down along with his weapon. Nathan disarmed the minigun and instead shifted his right fist slightly upward, unsheathing the high-explosive E-20 rocket launcher installed there and aiming it at the center of his two fleeing opponents.

Before he could fire it, a high-velocity round struck his arm, throwing it sideways. Nathan's onboard software traced the bullet to its source: the sixth floor of the factory's main building. He jetted in that direction, zooming in to see the captain dragging Elana along by the arm, shouldering a high-powered .50 caliber sniper rifle. I know these mercs are no ordinary soldiers of fortune, but come on. When did mercenaries start becoming better equipped than national militaries?

A dozen more mercs came out of hiding, mounting second-floor heavy machine guns and opening fire with 7.62 mm rifles. Gunfire slammed into his armor from all sides, causing him to hold up his arms in an x-block in an attempt to mitigate the damage.

"Amor integrity at seventy-five percent," Jarvis said.

Nathan gritted his teeth and triggered his boot repulsors, throwing him into the air in an attempt to throw off their aim. I swear these a-holes are coming out of the woodwork. Nathan's shoulders flexed as he deployed his dual rapid-fire, tri-barrelled E-10 Hydras, firing them one after the other, sending high-explosive missiles streaking death wherever their laser-guidance systems pointed. Eight mercenaries went down in a storm of shrapnel and flame, silencing both mounted guns and a half dozen more automatic rifles. Another merc took a shot at him with an RPG. Damn! He barely dodged the explosive, with mere inches to spare.

Nathan had to admit, for a bunch of ground-based fighters with no targeting systems, they were very good shots. But of course, who else would you hire to leverage a public servant than the best? His minigun unsheathed itself and spat a steady stream of fire at the enemy, taking out two more before his ammo counter read low. He flew back toward the line of fire, barreling through a barrage of 7.62 fire to kick one of the mercenaries full-force as he landed. His repulsors pointed in opposite directions and he fired at two on his left and right, then spun to his left to point one of his E-20s at a second-floor catwalk with a team of light machine gunners running to cover.

The missile collapsed the catwalk's lower supports, leaving the mercs falling eighteen feet onto hard debris. He turned around 180 degrees to face the last two soldiers standing and gave them a repulsor blast each. His eyes looked in every direction, targeting systems scanning for further threats. All clear. Now to get Elana.

"Jarvis," he said, "pinpoint Elana's position."

Before the hyper-intelligent AI could answer, another high-velocity .50 round slammed into the side of Nathan's head, knocking him onto his side. As he pressed himself off the ground, he put up his arm between him and the bullet's trajectory, blocking another round from hammering him, but disabling use of his minigun. His targeting systems readjusting, Nathan spotted the captain and his rifle a second before another round flew straight into his forearm. Enough of this. Nathan raised his blocking hand and sent a single repulsor blast in the captain's direction, toppling the crates he was taking cover behind but leaving him unharmed. He jetted into the sky to get around the captain's cover, but his flight pattern was thrown off when a round impacted his right boot, sending him into a spin that he readjusted from a second later.

Flying straight toward him, Nathan made a 360 corkscrew midair, causing the captain's next shot to ricochet off his rapidly moving armor and landing three feet in front of him. His hand reached up and crushed the rifle's barrel before the merc could pull off another shot, ripping it from his grasp as the man pulled his sidearm, desperately trying to win a fight that was clearly lost. He uselessly emptied the mag in less than ten seconds, each shot bouncing harmlessly off the polyresin iron shell, then lowered the weapon, finally understanding that he had lost.

"You're a long way from home, Stark," the captain said. "Why should you care what happens halfway across the world?"

"Stark," Nathan asked him.

The other man's eyes widened. "You mean...you're not…"

"Iron Man? No." Nathan took a single step toward the man. "But I am a Stark." He lunged, clenching the captain's throat and pulling his face inches from his armor's faceplate. "I'm only gonna ask this once, dirtbag. Where. Is. She?"

Gasping for air, his hands uselessly wrapped around Nathan's armored arm to try to loosen his grip, the captain's eyes drifted to his right. The armored teen's eyes drifted in that direction, alighting on a shackled and gagged Elana behind the crates he'd scattered. She's okay. Nathan breathed a sigh of relief as he threw the half-unconscious merc backward and walked over to her.

"Are you okay," he asked as he removed the gag from her mouth and deployed the high-energy laser in his left arm to burn off her shackles.

"Yes," she said in a slight Russian accent, wrapping her freed arms around him in a fierce, terrified embrace. When she let go, she looked straight into his armor's eyeslits, the glowing white in them a comforting beacon to her frazzled mind. "Whoever you are, thank you."

Nathan's eyes widened behind his helmet. Wait...she doesn't know? That means...she didn't hear what I said. Or maybe she had. The only last name he had given her was Gray, an old name he had taken when he was adopted by a married couple in Chicago over eight years ago. Before he knew his real father. Before he knew his real name. He looked in the captain's direction just in time to see him reloading his pistol. Fear flashed through Nathan as he realized that the merc's gaze was directed at Elana, not him. You coward.

Unfortunately for the captain, he had to aim. All Nathan had to do was raise his hand and flex, which he did. Hard. A highly concentrated beam of force jetted out of his palm, blowing the captain back with the force of a hundred-mile-per-hour car, killing him instantly. When he turned back to Elana, he saw her exhale heavily, relief flooding her features as she laid her head against his shoulder. As he helped her to her feet, her eyes met his through the faceplate.

"Who are you," she asked. She can never know the truth. No one here can. Not yet.

"Call me..." he responded in a heavily metallic voice, "...Silver Knight."

Her eyes widened slightly as she took the name in, a small smile of gratitude blossoming on her face. "Thank you, Silver Knight. Now, if it's not too much trouble, would you mind taking me to St. Petersburg? I have a family there who will be very concerned about my safety."

Nathan nodded. "I know. Your friend Nathan was the one who informed me of your situation and asked me to help."

She looked at him in disbelief. "You know Nathan Gray? How?"

He smiled ruefully from behind his helmet. "Let's just say I'm the oldest friend he has, and leave it at that. We'll go. Just give me a moment, okay?"

She nodded and left him to lean against a nearby storage container as he hovered and flew back toward the recent battlefield, the unconscious and dead bodies of dozens of mercs lining the grounds of the former industrial complex. What a waste. It wasn't the first time he'd killed, but every time, no matter the cause or number of dead, he always felt a profound sense of regret when he took a good look at the aftermath. Shaking his head slightly, he descended to where the captain had eventually ended up and crouched at the side of his body. His lower chest was caved in from the impact of the repulsor blast, his eyes squeezed shut in his final moment of instantaneous agony.

You had no choice, Nathan. Gotta remind yourself of that. He would have gladly killed Elana, him, and anyone else who had gotten between him and his paycheck. He demonstrated that very clearly. By sacrificing his life, and the lives of his equally deranged and corrupt men, he had saved one good, pure life from ending all too soon. Isn't that exactly why you took over the Hood in Chicago? To save good, honest people from the scummy lowlives that stand on their necks? He shook his head. No, some of the men he had killed tonight may have had some semblance of sanity, of morality, but all of them had agreed to a job that should have gone against every fiber of a moral person. After all, nothing was worse than threatening a child, even if Elana was of age.

The captain knew his secret as well, or at least his real last name. If he had let him live, all the merc would have had to do to find out what he meant was do a quick Google search for "Stark, America" and he would have eventually found out that Anthony Edward Stark has an adolescent son, long lost due to a mother who never told his father, and a foster system that never tried to find him. Nathan cocked his head. Well, it might not have told him all of that. If his secret got out, it could compromise...well everything. His anonymity, his space, his freedom even. Not that I don't think SHIELD already knows where I am. Because I know they do. He stood up, looking around him at the carnage he had caused. And, if by some miracle I'm wrong, they'll definitely know after tonight. Dad'll know.

He took off to get back to Elana, finding the girl patiently waiting exactly where he'd left her, as if she was waiting for a cab and not standing at the scene of a battle.

"Miss Janovich," he said suddenly, startling her slightly, "I'm ready." She strode over to him, and he wrapped his arms around her midsection. "You might want to hold on to my shoulders. Tight." She did so, preparing her for the jolting takeoff as he carried her back to her parents. As they flew just under the speed of sound, Nathan thought about the long-term ramifications of what he'd just done.

Silver Knight, huh? Made it up pretty much on the spot, but now that I think about it, I think it has a nice ring to it. He smiled. Guess I'm kinda keeping with the family tradition started by Iron Man. His smile faded. Iron Man, who I assaulted in a rage, whose armor and plane I stole...whose son I am. He shook his head slightly. I can't face him. Not now, not for a while. Not until I can prove to him that I'm more than that impulsive, angry kid he saw last. Not until I prove to myself that I'm worthy to follow in Steve's footsteps, to carry on his mission. Not until Silver Knight knows what it really means to be a hero.


	2. Issue I: The Good Old Days

Silver Knight, huh? Made it up pretty much on the spot, but now that I think about it, I think it has a nice ring to it. He smiled. Guess I'm kinda keeping with the family tradition started by Iron Man. His smile faded. Iron Man, who I assaulted in a rage, whose armor and plane I stole...whose son I am. He shook his head slightly. I can't face him. Not now, not for a while. Not until I can prove to him that I'm more than that impulsive, angry kid he saw last. Not until I prove to myself that I'm worthy to follow in Steve's footsteps, to carry on his mission. Not until Silver Knight knows what it really means to be a hero.

….

8 months later

Western Russian airspace

2 years, 8 months after the Battle of New York

Nathan smiled at the flight attendant as she dropped off his coffee and returned to her station on the commercial plane, slightly red-faced. The seventeen-year-old kid smiled wider at that. Mom always told me I had a killer smile. The slightly older woman must have thought he was flirting with her. Nathan had to admit to himself, she was pretty. Before he could follow that train of thought further, though, the captain's voice came over the loudspeaker.

"Attention all passengers," he said formally, "the trip to John F. Kennedy Internation Airport should take about fifteen hours, given the good weather. Please feel free to move around the cabin. Our flight attendants should be able to supply you with anything you need to tide you over until we get there, so lay back and enjoy the ride."

Nathan nodded as he laid his head back into his seat's headrest after sipping his coffee a few more times. His eyes closed gently as he realized just how tired he was. Investigation is harder work than I ever imagined. That, and he felt uneasy at the thought of finally going home, an uncomfortable mixture of excitement and fear settling into his bones. It had been nine months since he had been Stateside, the amount of time it normally takes to birth a baby. He smiled at the unconscious metaphor. I'm not a baby anymore. This was my exile. My trial. I'm coming out of this thing in a new world of infinite possibilities.

And then there's Dad. He gulped. A flurry of scenarios rushed through his head. He knew Avengers, the former Stark, Tower was in New York, and that Tony spent a lot more time there now that his admittedly short tenure as Director of SHIELD was over. What he didn't know was if he would be there when he arrived in New York. Half of him hoped he wouldn't. That he wouldn't have to face his father immediately. He breathed deeply. Don't kid yourself, Nate. You've been putting this off for nine months. It's time to get this over with. He glanced at his watch and groaned slightly. In another fourteen hours and fifty-five minutes.

In the last eight months since becoming Silver Knight, there was one uncomfortable truth about being a superhero that he'd come to learn: most of the time, you were waiting for something. He hated waiting. Scratch that, it wasn't the waiting that bothered him, it was the anticipation. If he waited too long, by the time an opportunity to take action came around, he had already turned over all the worst case scenarios in his head and was, for a brief minute, terrified that he would be too adrenaline-crazed to act effectively. The moment of terror would pass as soon as he identified the threat and objective, then got to work in any one of his four latest armor iterations. The thought of his newfangled Silver Knight armors brought a genuine smile to his face.

Mark I… He coughed once, dismissing the comparatively clumsy, underwhelming, glitchy-ass armor he'd cobbled together within the first month of his "Russian Exile," as he'd come to start calling his nine-month period stationed in St. Petersburg. Mark II: underwater armor. The first armor I fought the Crimson Dynamo in. Mark III: mobile assembly, no gantry or manual input needed. Just like the armor my dad used during the Battle of New York. He sipped more of his coffee, raising the insulated cup to his lips without opening his eyes. Mark IV: the Dynamo Buster. Clunky as hell, but stronger and packs more firepower than most of my previous armors combined. A smile took over his face as his thoughts drifted to the most recent iteration.

And, finally, there's the Mark V. He had never managed to unlock the Mark 42 armor he'd...borrowed from Iron Man after he assaulted him at Malibu. Tony had remotely locked the armor, preventing him from using it with an adaptive encryption not even he could hack without the right key. That's why Nathan had been forced to build the Mark I in the first place, as a poor man's substitute for the real thing. He had eventually managed to reverse-engineer the Mark 42 and produce his own fully-functional version of the prehensile armor, using the same nanobot technology already in his system to control it. Tony had taught his son the basics of crafting power armor barely two months over he'd arrived at the restored Stark residence at Malibu Point. Barely a month after he found out I helped the Avengers prevent nuclear war...in his armor.

He had met the Avengers before then, with the exception of Thor, in New York a week after he came to live with Tony. He was using a business trip for Stark Industries to send a message to the Avengers as well, offering to show them around their home away from home. Captain America and he had become fast friends, the latter, as expected, marveling at meeting the living legend in the flesh. Hawkeye was almost his kind of guy: smart and quippy with a side of professionalism. Black Widow had been somewhat aloof, staying just engaged enough to be polite, but just meeting her was a memory that he still held close.

A grin spread from ear to ear at the memory of his father's first reaction to the news after coming home from a weeks-long trip through space. Iron Man had been secretly dispatched as a one-man rescue crew for a team of astronauts NASA had unsuccessfully tried to send to Mars. He had only been gone a few weeks before trouble started brewing in Russia.

….

1 year, 10 months ago

10880 Malibu Point, CA

10 months after the Battle of New York

4 months after the events of Iron Man 3

Nathan groggily descended the stairs to his father's armory, sliding his hacked keycard into the keypad and putting his retinas against the eye scanners, his Stark biometrics and decryption software overriding Jarvis's security system and allowing him to enter. He had hacked into the room two weeks after he had arrived at Malibu Point, after his father's responsibilities as an Avenger and owner of a Fortune 500 company had kept him too busy to introduce his son to the armory. Now, two weeks after he'd taken something of a joyride in a hacked armor, he pulled up a secure server on one of his father's workshop computer.

The server was connected directly to the security feeds at Avengers Tower and across the Avengers' individual ID cards, looking for signs of trouble. With Banner working with the rescue operation at NASA, and Iron Man and Thor offworld, only Captain America, Hawkeye, and Black Widow were available to intercept the call that came in from a Russian nuclear silo barely fifty miles off the coast of Alaska. Nathan listened with intensity as a panicked Russian military officer explained that they were under attack by Ultranationalists, a political sect in the Russian political scene hell-bent on restoring the imperial era of Soviet reign.

Apparently, the Ultranationalists were using weaponry far too advanced for them to have come up with on their own, leading both the Avengers and Nathan to assume that they were being backed by a powerful patron. Nathan kept a close eye on the situation through their ID cards as all three available Avengers deployed to the facility in Siberia, his stomach turning when he saw the sheer amount of firepower leveled at them. The facility fired several bursts of anti-air missiles, having been completely taken over by the Ultranationalists and their patrons. Hawkeye at the helm, their Quinjet lurched sideways and did a complex series of spins and yaws, adjusting a few degrees here and there to have the approaching missiles miss by mere feet.

Barton plotted a course that got them just out of the range of their AA guns, then leveled the jet's weapons at the enemy, Natasha opening up on the soldier-filled catwalks. A dozen fighters fell in the first burst, but Widow was never able to follow up with a second, as one of their rotor engines was hit with sizeable shrapnel from an unknown source, jamming it and causing them to take a spin to the ground, landing hard. Captain America was the first out the door, leaping out of the crashing vehicle toward the nearest catwalk before it even hit, shield-first, slamming into an Ultranationalist that had raised his AK-74 and was waiting for the ship to spin around to take a shot at the cockpit.

He was unconscious on impact with the vibranium shield, and Cap rolled past him to dodge a burst of gunfire from two others, raising his shield between them as his feet planted on the ground. As they kept up the pressure, he advanced, glancing to his side to see Black Widow and Hawkeye scramble out of the wreck and take cover, Barton drawing and extending his trademark collapsible bow. He nocked an impact arrow and fired, taking out one of Cap's assailants while Widow fired her Micro pistols at an enemy on their level. Rogers charged forward, barreling through the last of the two gunmen, then throwing his shield into two others, the second ricochet returning it to his left arm.

Nathan watched the feed from their cards with awe as the three Avengers tore through the enemy, making their way to the Ultranationalists' primary objective: the fire control room. From the corner of Widow's feed, as they were entering the control building of the silo, Nathan spotted an all-too-alarming silhouette, and tried to send a message through their cards to warn them, but he remembered that his feed was one-way, so his father wouldn't be able to pick up his intrusion without looking very intently. Damn it. He looked down, thinking hard, considering his options for a moment or two before looking back up at the screen he froze the feed on. Embossed on the set of anti-air missile launchers, in small characters and slightly faded paint, were the letters "AIM."

AIM, who created the Mandarin, who created Extremis, who nearly killed my father and surrogate mother. One look at those letters and the expressions of the Avengers who'd just entered the facility told him that they hadn't seen it. AIM had some of the most advanced technology on the planet, next to his father's. The three Avengers would be hard-pressed to take on a force that large with regular firepower, much less AIM-modded weapons. And now, they'd be unprepared.

"What do I do," he asked himself aloud, thinking for a few more seconds before realizing exactly where he was: the Armory. A determined smile crossed his lips as he stood up and strode over to one of the armor casings, placing his hand on the edge of its glass viewport. The Mark VII Redux. Not as advanced or specialized as some later iterations, but still extremely powerful. He figured it would be more than enough for what he had planned.

Two minutes later

"Sir, I will have to inform Mr. Stark about your...extracurricular interest in his armor when he returns."

Nathan smiled as he uploaded a specialized subroutine into the workshop mainframe that would automatically erase the AI's memory of the armor's temporary removal once he was done with it. Pressing another button on the computer, Nathan watched as the Iron Man Mark VII case extended and opened, the extensive gantry system in the room disassembling the armor into its various parts to prepare for Nathan's entry. After donning the same kind of black techno-suit that his father wore going into the armor, he followed in Tony's footsteps, using the previous "joyride" experience he had had to optimize the armor's settings when it sealed him in.

"Jarvis," he said, "give me a weapon count."

"Yes sir," the AI responded, his tone somewhat reluctant. "Shoulder-mounted E-53s fully stocked and loaded. E-24 Missiles in leg compartments. Multiple flare bursts available. Additional weaponry listed on your HUD."

Nathan checked to verify and confirmed what Jarvis was saying. Missiles, mini-Jerichos, high-energy lasers, a new, personal addition-the B-50 minigun...and of course the suit's trademark repulsors. He tightened his jaw. Time to see if you're your father's son. Nathan ran toward the armory's exit, the doors opening to let him out as he jetted into the early morning sky, pushing his thrusters to the limit to reach the nuclear silo as fast as possible. He cleared the sound barrier in less than 20 seconds, then settled in for what Jarvis was calculating to be a twenty-minute flight even with an orbital insertion to speed things up, pulling up the feed from the Avengers ID cards to find out how Cap and the others were doing.

Siberia, two minutes ago

Captain Steven Rogers didn't like uncomfortable silences, especially after the oven-hot welcome they had received up front. All the same, as they entered the almost ridiculously large nuclear launch center, all the sounds and sights of battle vanished as the enemy adapted its tactics. Narrowing his eyes, Captain America scanned the dimmed hallway for threats, every muscle and sense tensed for any sign of aggression.

"Natasha," he said quietly, indicating without explanation that her mission was now to infiltrate and eliminate the enemy.

She used a portable laser cutter on her belt to melt through the bolts of a nearby air vent, then pulled the cover off and climbed in, using her knowledge of old Soviet missile silos to plot a course that would give her maximum visual coverage and several options for escape. Barton was busy literally backing up the Captain, staying behind the veritable wall that Cap could turn his shield into at a moment's notice, if not by coverage, than by speed and reflex. An idea crossed Hawkeye's mind, and he made a low noise to get Rogers' attention.

"Sonic arrow," he said, holding up a carbon shaft with a strange-looking head attached. Steve nodded, raising his shield and holding it with both hands, his right bracing his left as he prepared for the hellstorm Clint was about to unleash. Drawing back the arrow, Hawkeye aimed for the center of what he had thought to be movement, taking a breath and exhaling, holding it for less than a split-second before releasing the bowstring. The arrow whizzed through the air almost noiselessly, and Clint waited about a second before thumbing the detonation key on his bow's handle. A wave of highly concentrated sound emitted from the arrowhead, revealing about a dozen hidden soldiers covering their ears to keep out the sound.

Hawkeye starting taking potshots at the pained soldiers, one arrowhead penetrating the arm of one and sending an arc of 4mm pellets in all directions, taking out four others. Cap held his shield up as Barton kept firing, blocking a stream of bullets that the enemy gave as soon as the arrow stopped transmitting and they recovered. Once the enemy was down to three, Rogers nodded to Clint before cutting loose, seeing Hawkeye dive for cover as he rushed the enemy, still blocking bullets. Now within fifteen feet of the first man, he lowered his stance briefly, keeping his momentum to snatch a rifle from a fallen soldier and throw it at the furthest enemy.

Leaping off an adjacent wall as Barton finished off the enemy's rearguard, Cap slammed both feet into the first soldier, rolling as he hit the ground to throw his shield at the last man standing. The vibranium disc arced beautifully, colliding directly at the Ultranationalist's chest level and bouncing back to the Captain. Taking a quick glance around the room, the two Avengers were satisfied with their work and proceeded further into the compound.

"Black Widow," Cap said over comm., "what's your status?"

A whisper-quiet shuffling came from the other end for a few seconds before he heard an equally quiet response. "Enemy forces getting denser the closer we get to the control room. I've seen at least a dozen hostages, mostly techs and engineers. The only official military personnel I've come across are dead."

Cap grimaced and kept moving, hoping that they weren't too late to stop the Ultranationalists' ultimate goal, that the sacrifice of those brave men wasn't going to have been in vain. Of all the failures he had suffered in his life, both before and after his disappearance in Germany, the failure to save innocent lives always weighed most heavily on him. One in particular always haunted his occasional nightmares. Pushing that painful memory aside, Rogers focused on getting to the control room without getting killed, taking out scattered sentries as Natasha directed him and Clint away from the thickest patrol groups.

It had been almost twenty minutes by the time they had begun to near their objective, which, as they found out, was five floors underground. Natasha had found that the air vents went much deeper than your normal Soviet nuclear site and descended over 60 feet before discovering just how far it went.

"Guys," she said over comm., "there's a problem."

"What now," Hawkeye asked, worry lacing his words as he heard the same tone in Natasha's voice.

"The base commander, the one who warned us about this attack? He's down here...and it doesn't look good."

"Damn," Steve cut in. "They must be trying to torture the activation codes out of him. How much further to the control room?"

Nat checked the miniature GPS on her wrist, noting that Cap and Barton were less than fifty feet from the room's entrance. "Not far. Just keep going down that hallway and take a left. Breach on my mark."

"Copy."

Black Widow waited, watching in agonizing pity as the Ultranationalists painfully tried to squeeze the answers out of the commander in ways no human being should ever be made to endure. She grit her teeth and forced her fists shut to prevent herself from drawing her pistols and breaching prematurely, taking as many of the bastards out as she could before they eventually eliminated her. These are long odds even for Avengers, she reminded herself. If her years as a spy had taught her anything, it was patience. A spider never chases after its prey, it waits and watches until the opportune moment, and then…

"We're at the door, Nat."

She snapped out of her thoughts and put her hand to her earpiece. "Copy. There are at least twenty of them, all armed with automatic weapons. The commander is near a door on the far side of the room. Clint-"

"I know," he cut in. "Take the long shot, save the hostage, then kick copious amounts of ass."

She rolled her eyes slightly, never ceasing to be amazed at how her former partner could say such cheesy lines in such dire situations-and keep a serious tone. "On my mark. 3-2-"

She was interrupted by an explosion at her feet that broke the floor of the vent she was using to observe the enemy from, sending her into a ten-foot free-fall right into the middle of twenty waiting barrels.

"Nat!" she heard Steve yell in the periphery of her focus. All she could see was the entirety of her mixed, often violent life flash before her eyes as every soldier in the room prepared to execute her. She didn't close her eyes. She never did when facing death. This proved quite fortunate, as it always did, as Captain America and Hawkeye stormed the hallway door, the former charging through two soldiers shield-first as the latter sent an explosive arrow right into the center of a squad that was still threatening Natasha. His second arrow, as planned, went through the throat of the Ultranationalist who had been torturing the commander.

Seeing the enemy's attention shift from her, she charged toward the far-side door, dropping into a slide as she threw two electrical Widow's Stings at opposite sides, stunning two soldiers who were about to execute the commander. As she rose, Widow drew her pistols and laid into the enemy, adding a third angle of attack for the Ultranationalists to mind. She wasn't stationary, holstering one of her pistols while sprinting to the barely recognizable commander and offering her hand, covering the chaotic room with her other. The military man took her hand, rising shakily, his body weight supported surprisingly well by the seemingly slight woman before him.

"Come on, sir," she said, her voice level and professional, "we're getting out of here." He nodded stiffly and followed her through the door, Widow too focused on the inside of the room to notice the Makarov barrel leveled at her head from the hallway.

"I'm afraid you aren't," the man holding it said, his lips turned upward in a cruel smile. Knowing she had no chance, Natasha lowered her pistol and dropped it to the floor, glancing back to see Cap and Hawkeye in the same predicament, as reinforcements had flanked them. They were waiting for us, she realized, and a feeling of dread settled on her as the sheer amount of soldiers filing into the room let her know it was well and truly over. They were all completely disarmed in a matter of seconds and led into the center of the control room.

"Welcome," the Makarov-toting soldier said to the three Avengers. "I must admit, I was a little flattered when Commander Kirchoff called in the Avengers to stop me, but now that we're all here…" He feigned disappointment. "Well, let's just say our patrons will be just a little disappointed." Natasha shared a glance with the rest of the team. "Oh, don't worry, you'll be meeting them soon enough. See, they gave us these tools-" he motioned to a deep-scanning heat sensor and a rifle that looked startlingly like a Chitauri weapon, "-in the hope that what was left of their organization would have the chance to take their revenge on Iron Man. They will be very disappointed when they find out he was a no-show.

"As for you three, we didn't have any particularly special plans for your futures. And, as my men can tell you, when that occurs, it usually means someone dies." Cap and the others stared at him, utterly unfazed. "You will be the first to witness the start of a new war, one that will serve both our patron's goals and our own." With this, the enemy leader keyed a series of Cyrillic characters on a control panel, causing the entire room to start moving.

Natasha's eyes went wide. An elevator? How could I not have noticed? Within a minute, they went up four stories, still staying one story below ground, the control room's viewport in sight of missile silos in the large room beyond. They have enough firepower here to level half of Alaska...and all its populated areas.

"In case you were wondering, no, we aren't planning to destroy your country." The captain smiled malevolently. "Not all of it, anyway. Just enough to spark nuclear retaliation." He inserted a key that he had taken from the commander, turning it to expose a keypad with Cyrillic letters and numbers. He began typing into it, and Natasha looked at the base's commander. He looked back at her mournfully, shame predominant in his broken features. In that one look, she knew he had caved, giving them exactly what they needed to start World War III. She looked back at the captain. And there isn't a damn thing I can do about it.

Her eyes swept over the other Avengers, and she could tell they were also trying to figure out how to stop him. Hawkeye and Widow locked gazes for a second before Clint's eyes glanced down at his left hand. His pinky and ring finger were loosely closed around something, and from her years working with the man, she knew that he'd pulled out his ace in a hole. A last, desperate ace. She nodded to him almost imperceptibly, and Cap set his jaw, ready for whatever happened next. Barton dropped the device, and it hit the floor with an instant, almost sun-bright flash that only the three Avengers managed to avoid by turning away at the last second.

Disoriented but determined, Natasha and the Avengers bolted for their weapons, Clint diving past a blinded guard to grab his sidearm and put two shots into the nearest soldier. Captain America somersaulted backward, landing with his arms around the neck of the soldier who had been guarding him, throwing him over his shoulder into two others as he readjusted to dash for his shield. Natasha was already engaging the nearest guards hand-to-hand, appropriating their weapons as the fight progressed. Starting to recover from their temporary blindness, the guards looked on in fright as most of their comrades fell to a relentless assault by the three Avengers.

Cap was busy bashing a recovering soldier into his partner when he was suddenly shot in the back by the enemy captain, the only Ultranationalist in the room to have avoided being completely blinded, as he was turned away from them, facing the keypad. Natasha pumped semi-automatic rounds in his direction from across the room, one of them rupturing his body armor, the rest blocked either by his limited cover or the soldiers who stepped in to protect him. Rogers was still recovering from the shot when the control room's viewport shattered, and two suits of AIM power armor descended to its level, leveling their substantial firepower against the heroes.

With Cap on the ground, shield not in position, no cover, and nowhere near enough firepower to take either of them out, Natasha resigned herself to death, seeing the captain about to give the order with his raised hand. As their gigantic miniguns spun up, the base's loudspeaker powered up, an oddly familiar young voice projecting over it.

"Hey! This fight ain't finished without me!" That's when Widow and the others heard the familiar roar of repulsor thrusters and stared in disbelief as their savior descended. No. Way.

Two minutes ago, Russian airspace

Now that he was in armor and close, Nathan tried to tap into the Avengers' comm. frequency. No response. Nathan's heart raced, and he hoped to heaven that he wasn't too late. Finally, a burst of static reached his ears through the armor's communication system, and the deep voice of a Russian soldier filled his helmet.

"In case you were wondering," he said, "no, we aren't planning to destroy your country. Not all of it, anyway. Just enough to spark nuclear retaliation."

Nathan glanced at the Avengers ID feeds, only now noticing that they'd gone back online after almost a minute of radio silence. "Jarvis, pinpoint the source of that voice, hurry!" The AI feverishly worked in the background as Nathan watched Captain America and the other Avengers start to tear the room they were in apart, turning the tables on their captors and proving why they were indeed "Earth's Mightiest Heroes." Yes! Triumph rang in Nathan's blood...until he saw Captain America get shot.

His smile faded instantly, and he looked at Jarvis's progress on locating the voice. He had identified the source as the man who'd just shot Cap, but their location was still absent. Wait a minute. He looked at the background beyond the control room's now-shattered viewscreen, barely glancing at the real-life view of the nuclear compound outside his helmet, and saw the circular shape of the open silo he was rapidly approaching. Comparing aerial views with the angle of capture, and...gotcha. He snarled in determined anger, and had Jarvis tap into the compound's PA system when he saw the power armors reveal themselves, hoping to distract the enemy long enough to save the others. When Jarvis gave him the all-clear, he spoke…or rather yelled.

"Hey!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. "This fight ain't finished without me!" Nathan descended at a speed and angle that would have put the daredevil dive-bombers of World War II to shame, flying straight toward the open silo and his targets. His shoulder plates shifted as the E-50 mini-Jericho deployed, revealing a series of cluster missiles that were meant for maximum damage and crowd control. When he got dangerously close to the point of no return, he flung his hands forward as per Jarvis's calculations, braking just enough to turn his death-defying nose-dive into an incredibly tight parabolic turn, sloping him up toward the two occupied power armors.

His palms extended upward, releasing two strong repulsor blasts that knocked the armors back into the silo walls and following up by releasing one of his E-50s, the missile breaking apart midair, its clustering parts separating to slam into the armors. In a flurry of movement and flowing attacks, Nathan Stark attracted the entire control room's attention to himself, blasting anything he didn't like and finishing by landing right in front of the enemy captain, standing there as he stared at "Iron Man," mouth agape. Not smiling now, are you? Nathan snarled again and hit him in the head with an open hand, instantly knocking him unconscious.

He turned to the Avengers, who were all staring at him in disbelief. Cap was the first to speak.

"Stark?"

"Yes," he replied, "but not the way you think." Nathan lifted the armor's faceplate and looked at them all with a smile. They were all understandably shocked, but Widow was the first to voice her response.

"Nathan," she asked incredulously. He nodded in response, and her look of shock instantly turned to one of frustration. Nate's eyes widened. Uh oh. "Are you out of your mind?!" This isn't good.

"Um," he started, "excuse me, but, from where I'm standing, it looks like I just saved your lives. Am I missing something?" He looked at all of their expressions, but Natasha's was the only one that looked...abnormal. Her face was a study in hybrid emotions-shock, anger, and terror being predominant.

"It is way too dangerous for you to be out here, even in that suit. If your father ever finds out what you just did-"

"My father? Seriously? I just vaped two AIM power armors, took out an entire room of armed soldiers, saving all of your lives in the process, and you're worried about what my father is going to do?" He snorted. "You do realize we're sitting on several nuclear warheads, right?" Before she could respond, a familiar digital voice interrupted their conversation, patching into all the Avengers' communicators.

"Sirs, Madam, I'm afraid you have more company."

Nathan redeployed his faceplate, sealing him in, and consulted his HUD to find the source of the alarm. His eyes went wide at the sheer number of red dots on the five-mile-radius radar screen. Ho-ly s-

"Natasha, there's no way you three can take on as much firepower as I'm seeing. Not alone. Not without Iron Man." He looked back at them, and saw that Cap was looking at her in agreement with him, Hawkeye not wanting to interfere. When she didn't seem to relent, Rogers renewed his attempt to convince her.

"He's right. AIM has more raw firepower than we can match on our own, and besides, he's here already. If he's half the fighter Tony is, he'll be fine, especially with us watching his back." She seemed to relax a little, if still not liking the situation.

"All right then. What's the plan?"

All eyes turned to Cap, their master strategist. He thought for a moment, considering the situation. "Nathan, what'll the enemy be bringing our way?"

Stark consulted the armor's files on AIM and their capabilities. "More power armor. Based on the recent transactions that SHIELD's managed to identify, I'd say a lot more. Couple helicopters with at least three dozen infantry." He shook his head slightly. "A small army, and no less."

"We've dealt with worse," Steve said reassuringly, causing Nathan's memory to flash with the news reports of the Chitauri invasion less than a year earlier. "Here's the plan. Stark, you'll be our anti-air. Bring down as many of those personnel carriers as you can, and engage power armors as you see necessary. Hawkeye, you'll be our early warning. If anything gets too close to the silo's entrances, ground or air, you let us know. Widow and I will be covering both. Now that the control room's about at ground level, it'll be almost too easy for the enemy to activate the missiles once inside. We cannot let that happen. If all else fails, and the enemy pushes too hard, fall back to the control room and hold it at all costs."

The Avengers plus one nodded in agreement, and Nathan grabbed Barton's collar, hoisting him into the air as he took off, exiting the building through the silo's gigantic open hatch and posting him in a nearby guard tower. As he rose back into the air, a proximity alarm went off just in time for him to see its cause: a man-sized power armor headed straight for him at an alarming speed, so fast that he couldn't react before it slammed into him, dragging him down to Earth at an angle. Not even Barton could shoot fast enough to save him. As they descended, Nathan on the bottom, the fourteen-year-old tried to recover, pushing the suit's jetpack to the limits trying to level out and break free.

Failing this, Nathan stuck his palm in the armor's face and fired a repulsor point-blank...repeatedly, eventually stunning it long enough for him to somewhat break his fall, shifting to land on top and decelerate their descent slightly. Though he still felt a considerable shock when he landed, the kid was sure it would have been much worse had he been in the other pilot's position. As it were, the AIM armor started to stand up not long after him and engage him in close quarters, grabbing both his wrists and holding his hands palm-side out. Nathan struggled for a few moments before kneeing the AIM soldier, pulling close to him and following with a head-butt. The pilot didn't let go.

You really want to stay this close? Okay. His HUD flashed as he diverted power to the suit's chest RT, or as it was more colloquially known by him and his father, the Unibeam. An immensely powerful beam of force emitted from the chest of Nathan's armor, unloading itself directly into the chestplate of his opponent at point-blank range. When the bright flash subsided, he still felt hands on his wrists, but looked down at them to see that the AIM gauntlets had been forcibly ripped off their owner when the Unibeam slammed into him, catapulting him twenty feet back, a smoking hole in his armor. Figuring he was down for the count, Nathan took off and headed back to the silo.

Damn it, was all he could think as he saw the airborne personnel carriers already touched down in the compound, knowing that he had failed in his one mission: to keep as many of those choppers as possible from unloading their cargo. "Jarvis, locate the nearest Avenger in need of assistance."

"Yes sir...done."

A series of virtual rings came up on his HUD, indicating a flight path to his first protectee: Black Widow. A quick glance at the feed from her ID card was enough to let him know Jarvis wasn't lying when he said she needed help. She was being shot at on the floor of the silo, just fifty feet from the nearest missile housing, in some sort of loading dock, infantry and power armor descending from the roof to lay down suppressing fire. Nathan weaved through flak from the helicopters and outside power armor, following the prescribed flight pattern until…

Backup has arrived. A double repulsor blast from Nathan knocked down a power armor that was about to drop a forklift on Natasha, and he landed, standing between her and a wave of bullets from encroaching infantry. He engaged anyone who got too close hand-to-hand, using the armor's enhanced strength to dispense with them in seconds and firing his repulsors periodically. He turned around, spotting the same armor he had just knocked down rushing back into the fray, and caught a hook on the taller mech's part, deploying his B-50 and "pulling a War Machine," spitting out a stream of fire into its chassis, effectively cutting it in half as he aimed from lower chest to head.

Turning fast at another proximity alarm, he was picked up in a taloned armor's left hand and about to be pounded with its right. His right palm pointed at the rapidly approaching mechanized limb and fired a repulsor, knocking the arm back and stunning it long enough for him to deploy the D-500 high-energy laser in his left arm, actually cutting the drone in half and delivering a repulsor blast to one side of its severed chassis a second after he heard the satisfying click of one the laser's spent power cores ejecting, immediately jetting upward to get a bird's-eye view. Nathan let loose two E-20 rockets toward the structural supports of two primary catwalks, blocking two columns of soldiers from reaching Widow and allowing her to focus on just one.

Seeing a warning from Jarvis, he flew into the control room and took out two more soldiers who were trying to flank Cap. Having already seen them, Rogers nodded his thanks briefly before reengaging the enemy, Nathan flying back out above the silo, giving Hawkeye some much-needed support against the remaining helicopters and power armor. Five minutes passed like this, the young Stark fighting furiously, yet feeling as comfortable in the armor as he was in his own skin. The battle turned against the Avengers, though, as more and more firepower was concentrated on the Iron Man armor, and Nathan began taking more and more damage, the suit's particle shielding systems having to kick in multiple times to prevent major structural damage, draining his power at an exponential rate.

Eventually, Hawkeye was forced off the tower and into the open courtyard, where he was pinned down by enemy fire. Natasha faced a similar situation, having been forced to flee into the recesses of the silo by overwhelming odds. Captain America was practically dogpiled in the control room, and eight men were busy holding him down as a ninth began beating him mercilessly. As for Nathan, the young Stark was pinned to the floor of the silo's loading dock by two power armors, his suit's energy levels running dangerously close as they held him down. A window on his HUD opened, revealing Captain America's ID feed as he desperately struggled free, beaten and bloodied, but not down, still fighting. Following his example, the surrogate Iron Man struggled as well, but was easily forced down by the powered-up AIM hardware. On Cap's feed, he saw the enemy captain struggle to his feet, having regained consciousness, and stride over to the base's control panel.

"You four," he said, "will be among the first to witness the dawn of a new era. Only the dawn, though. You will never bask in the light of our future." Pushing the last key to deactivate the encryptions on the nuclear launch system, he looked back at Captain Rogers, a triumphant smile on his cruel face. Suddenly, a bullet struck him, followed by two more aimed at the control panel. Natasha! Black Widow quickly shot the guards holding Cap down and allowed him to grab his fallen shield, clearing out the control room. One of the power armors holding Nathan down left to suppress the Avengers, but Cap threw his shield at it, landing a hit that struck a critical power junction, his trademark weapon returning to him after bouncing back. When he scanned the room, he saw it was completely clear.

Checking every feed, he saw the number of active power armors greatly diminished, and most of the infantry were either dead or fleeing. No helicopters remained. Yes! Victory rang in Nathan's blood until he saw the captain stir.

And press a single red button marked "launch."

A deafening roar was heard from a hatch in the silo as a single cruise missile roared to life and ascended through the large room to leave through the roof. Triumph turned to panic as all the Avengers realized that they had failed. Nathan's expression set in determination. Not yet, we haven't. Diverting all remaining power to thrusters, the teen blasted past the startled armor pilot, wrenching free of his grip and jetting off after the missile, which had already reached 2000 feet. His comm. clicked on as one of the Avengers reached out to him.

"Nathan, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

Nate grimaced. "What does it look like, Widow? I'm the only one who can stop that missile. I have to try."

"Are you kidding me? That thing could have a tamper safeguard, or be ultra-sensitive to alterations from its flight pattern. It could go off the moment you touch it! The missile isn't one of the larger ones, but if that happens, even in that armor, at point-blank range, the odds of you surviving are-"

"Slim to none, I know." He waited a second, still flying straight for the missile, his eyes glancing at Natasha's almost desperate expression. "It's a risk I'm willing to take." Immediately after saying this, he flexed his hands, bringing his arms flush with his sides, activating the armor's afterburners and jetting him toward the missile at an even faster pace. He could see each Avenger watching his armor's feed through their cards, hoping against hope. As he got within ten feet of the missile, his hands reached forward, inching closer and closer until they grasped the bomb's rear assembly. No boom. Good. Reaching further forward, he placed one hand on the missile's center while keeping the other on the rear, pushing his armor's thrusters to the limit to get it to turn.

Come on! Finally, it was working, the overtaxed suit shifting the missile's flight path upward toward the vacuum of space. He carried the thing the whole way there, getting as far as sub-orbit before his thrusters gave out. He ripped the fuel line off as it fell away from him, seeing it float almost a mile away before he realized that it hadn't made escape velocity. With the last remaining power in his suit, he made Jarvis run a trajectory calculation of what would happen when it fell back to Earth. His eyes went wide. No…

"Guys," he said, "are you seeing this?"

"Yes," Cap replied, his voice staticy and resigned over the failing connection. "It's all right, Nathan. There's nothing more you can do."

The simulation showed the missile falling back to the planet's surface, over 100 miles away from its intended target...right onto the Avengers. Nathan's eyes closed in silent grief at the realization of the painful failure he'd just committed, and he stayed there, in that mental state, until he realized that he still had comms.

"There is one thing," the teen said, his voice determined, and he saw the look of simultaneous realization and fear on the faces of his friends. He cut off communications, thrusters, climate control, channeling every watt that was left in the suit into one system. He raised his palm at the missile, his targeting systems managing to lock onto it even from this distance. Please be enough. His right repulsor charged for a full five seconds, building the power it would need to hit at this range, then discharged, sending a beam of force that detonated the missile in sub-orbit.

He could see the explosion blossoming over the mile between them, filling the sky with bright orange and red as the fireball expanded further and further. He closed his eyes at it neared him, waiting for darkness to come. I did it. He smiled mournfully. Dad, forgive me. His teeth clenched briefly as the explosion engulfed his armor, jarring him more horribly than the worst car accident he'd ever been in before everything went dark. The missile had been one designed for a precision strike, not population damage, with a blast radius of barely 2 miles. If one had been looking and able to see through the dense cloud of radioactive smoke left in the bomb's wake, they would have seen Nathan's limp body fall through the air after the massive fireball dissipated in the high atmosphere, the armor he was in barely intact.

Thirty seconds later

"Get up," a voice said in the periphery of his consciousness. "Get up!"

Nathan's eyes shot open, straining to focus on what was in front of him. All he could see was the white of clouds outside his helmet's eyeslits. Am I dead? No, those clouds are moving. He suddenly remembered everything. And I'm falling! He flailed his limbs, trying to look down and get a view of how far up he was. The answer sent panic through him, and he desperately tried to get the armor to work, to get some kind of drag force or air resistance. Finally, something worked, and all the suit's flaps deployed at once, causing a loud gust to be heard from inside the armor. Suddenly, the HUD reactivated and the suit's emergency power kicked in. Nathan kicked the thrusters into overdrive, everything in the suit dedicated to preventing his death in the imminent impact.

He managed to turn his death-assured airdrop into a slightly angled crash-landing in a bed of snow not two miles outside the missile silo. Five minutes later, he heard movement nearby and scanned for its source with his eyes.

"Nathan, Nathan!" Widow's voice sounded somewhere between relieved and infuriated as she sprinted to his immobile form and shook him repeatedly. Cap and Hawkeye were crouching next to her, trying to get the powered-down helmet off him.

He finally moved, reaching up to his helmet to flick a tiny switch in the side that raised his faceplate, allowing them to see his battered but very much alive face. Relief flooded all of them, but Natasha's expression quickly shifted to one of anger.

"Don't you ever do something like that again!"

Nathan laughed painfully as he stood up and dusted himself off, smiling at her scowling face widely. "No promises. And besides, who made you my babysitter?"

Rogers and Barton exchanged a look before shrugging in silent agreement with Nathan. She finally seemed to calm, rolling her eyes slightly and turning away, muttering something about recklessness and how it seemed to run in the family. Nate just smiled wider and basked in victory for a few moments before the chop-chop of helicopter blades reached his ears. Seeing how none of the Avengers responded aversely to it, he simply lowered his faceplate and looked up at the source. Well it's about time. Hovering not two hundred feet away were several Russian military choppers. Captain America waved them over, and, as their reputation as Avengers preceded them, the Russians were only too eager to help.

Two days later

"Just two days ago, yet another potentially world-devastating event was thwarted by the heroic actions of the Avengers, once again proving themselves to be ever the allies of mankind."

Nathan had hardly stopped smiling since he had found out he didn't die in that explosion. After all, how many teenagers could say that he not only met the Avengers, but fought alongside them in the armor of Iron Man-and probably prevented a nuclear war to boot? Widow was less than thrilled about bringing Nathan back to Avengers Tower, but since his armor was trashed, and the Russians weren't about to send a separate helicopter to take Nathan home, they were somewhat forced to take him along. Hawkeye seemed almost indifferent to the fact that Nathan was so young, and in truth the kid realized that he had probably started his own arrow-shooting career at an even younger age.

Steve Rogers was the only one who seemed to truly enjoy the opportunity to spend time with his best friend's son, even if that son had stolen his armor, gone into an impossibly dangerous situation, and gotten blown up with a nuclear bomb all without telling his scared-stiff mother what the hell was going on. Pepper's gonna be so pissed when she finds out what I've been doing. So's Dad, for that matter. Truthfully, he hadn't thought that far ahead when he had suddenly decided to take the armor and help. All he knew is that he had, on his very first time in the field, done something that may just have saved the world, and he loved it.

His smile faded as Natasha walked into the office where he and Cap had been watching the news broadcast on the incident in Russia. Time to come back to reality, I guess. He turned to her and rose from his seat, wincing at the pain in his right leg as he stood.

"Guess you being here means my plane is ready," he said to her, causing the red-haired woman to nod in response. He smiled slightly in thanks and just stood there for a moment, staring out the window of the office to take in the view one last time before turning for the door and walking toward it slowly.

"Nathan, wait," Cap said from behind him, rising from his own chair. He picked up a small box from the desk and walked close to the kid. "There's something I wanted to give you." He offered the box to him, and they locked eyes for a moment, Nathan's searching his for any hint of what it contained. Finally, he gave in and opened it, revealing…

Wait. Nathan's eyes opened as far as they could go. You can't be serious.

"You can't be serious," he said to Cap, looking back up at him, mouth agape. The legendary soldier smiled at him widely and nodded. When he looked back at Natasha, she was just standing there, her face neither judgemental nor approving. His eyes went back to the box's single content and stared at it. In the small container was a single, thin, transparent card-with his name on it, along with the Avengers logo.

"It's no joke, Nathan. Out there, you proved yourself to be every bit the man your father is. Even if you're just a reservist, I want you with the Avengers." The captain held out his hand, and Nathan shook it slowly, feeling suddenly weightless as he realized what had just happened.

"Congratulations," Natasha said from behind him, holding out her hand, her expression still neutral, as if she were holding some uncomfortable thought inside. He didn't notice, he just shook her hand, feeling a sudden charge run through his hand as he did. Barton was there too, smirking slightly as the Avengers welcomed a new, part-time member. Still floating on a cloud of happiness, he closed the box and tucked it into his pocket, not even noticing how he got to the lobby or onto the Stark Industries private plane that also held the corporation's red-haired CEO. He didn't notice just how angry she had been when he told her the story of what had happened and why he hadn't shown up for school for two days. Didn't break his smile as she held him close, her scolding attitude finally yielding to relief.

Meanwhile, in the office in Avengers Tower, a careful discussion had been going on between the Avengers present. As he reached the airport, it reached its finish as Captain America gave his final point in support of his decision.

"He's just a kid," Natasha pointed out. "He barely survived this time. He's not ready for the kind of work that we do."

"I agree," Cap said, causing a confused expression to blossom on the shorter woman's face. "He isn't ready." He strode toward the window, looking out on the New York skyline serenely before turning his head to her. "But he will be. We'll train him. I meant what I said when I told him he was every bit the man his father is, and if I'm right...well, let's just say he's gonna change the world. Maybe more than Tony can." He looked back out the window. "Besides, something tells me that even without our help, now that he's had a taste of what it means to be an Avenger, he's not gonna stop. Something tells me this is just the beginning."

When Nathan and Pepper got back to Malibu and got settled in, he waited until night, when he knew she was asleep, then snuck into the armory and began his plans for a new, personalized armor, filing the schematics away in a cloaked file titled "Project SK."

….

Present

Nathan's eyes opened as he awoke from his nap, looking around disoriented, his memories coming back in spurts. Right...I'm going home. Satisfied that he had rectified the gaps in his personal timeline, he laid his head back again. What a dream. Dream of the good old days. The days when Cap was still alive. A stab of pain pierced his heart at the thought of his departed mentor and trainer. He had sworn as soon as he heard the news to hunt down Steve's killer, no matter how long it took. Glancing at his watch, Nathan saw that they were barely two hours away from JFK, his eyes widening. Helluva nap. He leaned back in his seat, glancing at some of the other passengers to see two British men looking straight back at him.

One of them nodded at him, and he nodded back, smiling. Good old Ben and Jerry. He snickered at their names. Another passenger rose from his seat and began making his way toward the back of the plane, passing by the bathrooms and heading toward the cargo hold. A knowing smile crossed Stark's lips. Now what might you be doing back there? He nodded at his two friends, the smile fading to be replaced with a stern, determined look, an expression they mirrored back. Nathan rose from his seat, walking in the same direction as the suspicious passenger. All right then, Silver Knight. Time to be a hero. He double-checked the pinhole-sized spot on his left arm where the Mark V's control bots were located and walked toward the cargo hold, ready for whatever came next.


	3. Issue II: From Russia with Shove

Another passenger rose from his seat and began making his way toward the back of the plane, passing by the bathrooms and heading toward the cargo hold. A knowing smile crossed Stark's lips. Now what might you be doing back there? He nodded at his two friends, the smile fading to be replaced with a stern, determined look, an expression they mirrored back. Nathan rose from his seat, walking in the same direction as the suspicious passenger. All right then, Silver Knight. Time to be a hero. He double-checked the pinhole-sized spot on his left arm where the Mark V's control bots were located and walked toward the cargo hold, ready for whatever came next.

…

Sixteen hours earlier

St. Petersburg, Russia

2 years, 8 months after the Battle of New York

"Finally decoded the hard drive."

Ben and Jerry Robinson jogged over to the holoprojector in Nathan's workshop, eager to see what the seventeen-year-old genius had discovered. Nathan keyed the projector on and fed the intel from the hard drive onto it, revealing several blue-tinged holograms of folders containing images and personnel files.

"The "operation" Doctor Markus was referring to at the Carpathia facility is an initiative by AIM to sow seeds of war between the U.S. and Russia. Again." The two brothers looked at each other, then at him in question. "Remember that incident in Siberia about two years ago? The one that involved the Avengers?" They nodded in unison. "Well, "Earth's Mightiest Heroes" singlehandedly stopped AIM from striking the same kind of match that they are here and now. Took them two years, but it looks like they finally got the guts and resources to try again." Nathan's hands danced over the keys of his computer, opening one file after the next to collate all data on "Operation Firebrand."

"AIM's put this man-" he zoomed in on an older man with a long scar and burns on his face, "-in charge of it. Miles Trax. Near as I can tell, it's an alias, but that's the only name on file. Their plan is to hijack flight 776 from St. Petersburg to New York later today and crash it into the city, effectively staging a second 9/11 while laying the blame on Russian nationalists through a very elaborate framejob. Ordinarily, I'd go for exposing the framing and letting Interpol or SHIELD know what's happening, but we're out of time, and I'm not exactly on good terms with SHIELD at the moment."

The brothers glanced at each other, a gesture Nathan noticed but ignored as he continued. "Our job is to board that flight, identify Trax and his backup, and neutralize the terrorists before they can successfully perform the jack and end a whole lot of lives. Any questions?"

Jerry raised his hand. "Uh, yeah, why not call the Avengers?" Nathan broke eye contact and leaned back against his desk, remaining silent. "Since you seem to know a lot more about them than we do...and there's the whole 'Silver Knight' thing."

Nathan shook his head. "Because I'm not on very good speaking terms with some of them, either."

"You mean your father," Ben jutted in seriously.

Nathan looked at the both of them, mentally comparing their similarities and differences. Jerry and Ben were fraternal twins from Britain, ex-SAS turned mercenaries, born on the same day, yet failing to have virtually any common characteristics, physical or mental. Jerry was the joker of the group, the "dumb blonde" that was actually quite brilliant, and a hot hand with a sniper rifle. Ben was the serious brother, ever the analytical thinker and strategist, and a specialist in close quarters combat. He had first met them four months ago, in a POW camp in Eastern Europe, when he'd gotten wind that a rogue element of AIM was experimenting on soldiers captured in a local conflict.

Despite the fact that he singlehandedly freed every prisoner there, he couldn't have saved them all without the twins' combat expertise and quick thinking, not even in his Mark III armor. He'd been working with them to track down and eliminate that rogue division ever since, tracking their movements across Europe and Western Asia until finding their base of operations hidden in the Carpathian Mountains. As he thought back to that hell of a mission, Nathan could feel the stares from both brothers as they waited for his answer. He stood up straight and took a deep breath before speaking.

"Partially, yes. I have my reasons, rest assured. You know me well enough to know I wouldn't take a risk like this unless I thought it was absolutely necessary."

"Still don't see why, but...I trust you. We both do."

Nathan nodded. "Thanks." He turned to the projector and collapsed the file on Trax, instead opening the flight and floor plan of the commercial plane in question. "The aircraft we'll be boarding is a full-serve jet, with two floors and a rather large cargo hold. Whatever these terrorists have up their sleeves to use in hijacking the plane, they'll have ample places to hide it." He looked at them and smirked. "Which means we will too." His fingers danced over the projector's control panel and pulled up a layout of the airport and surrounding tarmac. "The airport has a pretty extensive security system, but since it isn't a military installation, I doubt they have radar that can pick up flying objects as small as, say, a man."

He looked at the two of them, their expressions showing they got his drift, and continued. "As such, I'll be flying directly onto the tarmac and making my way to the plane in-armor, quiet as I can. If you need me to smuggle anything onboard, now would be the time to say it."

The two brothers looked at each other and shrugged before Jerry spoke up. "Not sure why we even need to be involved. After all, you've got more than enough firepower to take on all of them without breaking a sweat."

Nathan cocked his head and shrugged slightly. "True, but I don't have enough bodies. I can't be everywhere at once, especially not on a plane that size. That's where you two come in."

"Then give us the play-by-play," Ben said, leaning his hands against the side of the projector.

"Okay, listen carefully…"

…

Present

U.S. airspace, 50 miles from New York City

As Nathan made his way to the back of the plane and the cargo hold beyond, a flutter of anxiety flashed through his system. It wasn't that he felt naked without his armor, he could do quite well without it thanks to the training he had received over the years, not to mention the raw, visceral experiences in Europe. It was the uncertainty. He had no idea what these mercs had up their sleeves, and knowing AIM, it was probably something that could potentially deck him even in-armor, not to mention out of it. The young Stark saw the suspicious passenger, a burly man about six-two, duck behind the plastic flap separating the passenger deck from the door to the cargo hold and watched him open the heavy door silently, leaving it a crack open so as to not trigger the noisy auto-lock system.

Stark followed noiselessly, his training from Black Widow kicking in naturally as he tried to get the drop on the lone terrorist. As he tiptoed into the cargo hold, the hum of the jet engines became louder, somewhat impairing him from hearing small noises. All his senses strained to compensate, focusing on spatial awareness to prevent his target from turning the tables on him. He finally spotted the man by a rack lined with safety webbing, rummaging around the inside of a large suitcase until he apparently found what he was looking for and pulled it out. Nathan's eyes widened as a Chitauri-looking rifle emerged from the case, and he ducked behind cover to avoid being seen.

That's the same gun, or at least the same type, as the one in that nuclear silo in Siberia. Definitely AIM tech. He peeked around the corner to get a glimpse of the man, but instead found empty air. His eyes widened in sudden fear. Sliding along the edge of his cover, he silently made his way further into the hold, spotting the man opening up another suitcase not far away, the Chitauri rifle laid upright against the shelf. If he pulls off a shot with that thing and misses, it could destabilize the whole plane. It'd be like me firing a repulsor directly into the plane's hull. He approached the man from behind, crouching down slightly to lower his center of gravity. Despite the fact that the sound of the engines would probably blot out any noise except that of a full sprint, Nathan's first instinct was that of complete silence.

He was within six feet of his target, about to grab his neck in a choke hold, when a loud noise came from behind him. From the door. Nathan's head snapped around to see another man through the door's window...and the now-closing locking system, hence the noise. When he looked forward again, his eyes locked with the terrorist's as they each identified the other as a clear and present threat. Barely an instant passed between them before they both snapped into action. As the terrorist reached for the rifle, Nathan leapt through the air, landing a flying kick on his right arm and preventing him from inserting his arm into the rifle's inner trigger chamber.

The man quickly responded and rose with a left roundhouse that impacted Nathan's lower double-block, leaving the younger man vulnerable to a right hook directed at his head. The punch landed and sent Nate staggering back a few feet. Assuming a fighting stance, the two opponents paced around each other for a moment, looking for a weakness before attacking simultaneously. Hook, block left, redirect cross and counter with a jab. Every time Nathan fought hand-to-hand, his mind processed his moves at lightning speed, evaluating and eliminating possible options within the space of a split-second. But, as he had found out over time, his fighting prowess was only as good as his body's ability to follow through on his mind's decisions.

Despite the years of training and now-months of experience in the field, Nathan's hand-eye coordination was still not where he wanted it to be, and he found himself on the receiving end of a punishing hand-to-hand combo from his opponent. The larger man threw him against a shelf, and Nathan rolled away from a thrust kick aimed at his head. Ducking behind another shelf, the teen landed a push kick on a heavy box ideally placed just above hip level, slamming the box into his opponent's lower midsection and staggering him. Rushing at the terrorist, Nathan tackled him into another metal shelf, driving a series of hooks and uppercuts into his ribs and midsection.

The other man head-butted him and kneed him in the lower ribs, knocking some of the wind out of him as he tried to retreat and get his bearings. The merc was relentless, driving him back bit by bit until he cornered the teen and pulled something from the back of his belt. Knife. Great. The six-inch blade seemed a little undersized for the man that was wielding it, but Nathan had taken enough cuts over the past few months to know that it wouldn't matter if his opponent knew what he was doing. If the fight over the last two minutes was any indication, he obviously did. Nate swiped his hand against the wrist of his opponent's armed hand, redirecting the blade as the merc slashed at him, repeating this several times until the terrorist got fed up and lunged.

Pivoting sharply, Nathan let the knife-blade slip past him and dig into the insulated wall, driving an elbow into his opponent's jaw, using his thrusting momentum to add force to the blow. Stunned but enraged, the larger man smacked Nathan aside with a powerful backhand, sending him to the ground. Damn, this guy can hit! He withdrew and considered his dwindling options. They had been fighting for almost three minutes now, and between the adrenaline in his system and the blows he'd taken, Nathan was already getting worn out. He had to end the fight-quickly. Think, Nathan. Your strength isn't in your body, it's in your mind, so think. His eyes darted around the cargo hold, trying to find something in the environment he could use to tip the scales when his eyes alighted on a small but heavy duffle bag. Smirking slightly, he put his palms together and stretched out his arms toward it, drawing back one in a summoning motion.

A slight whir could be heard over the near-deafening hum of the engines, but before it could intensify, the terrorist charged at him with the knife again. Nathan barely ducked out of the way in time, delivering a side-kick to the man's upper leg, just above his knee. The blow only pissed him off. As they chased each other around the cramped space, Nathan began to panic. I work best in open spaces, and this cargo hold really isn't. He ducked and weaved around another knife slash, careful to keep out of the range of the man's open hand to prevent being grappled with. He made a mistake four minutes into the fight, and was thrown against another wall, boxed in on his right and left by wide shelves, with nowhere to go but forward, within the range of that knife.

Oh crap. Not how I wanted to go out. Panic and fear settled into his system until he pressed his hands against the wall and realized it wasn't a wall at all. His eyes widened slightly in realization, and he eyed the man in front of him carefully, noticing the malevolent grin on the merc's confident face. You think you've won? Then come and get it.

"What are you waiting for," Nate asked. "Come on!"

The terrorist complied and lunged toward him, thrusting the knife blade into the glass of the airlock and cracking it as Nathan pulled the red release lever. A powerful vacuum yanked at the both of them, pulling the two opponents, along with several other pieces of unsecured cargo, into a 35,000-foot free-fall.

…

One minute earlier

Ben and Jerry looked at each other as several shady-looking men started talking near the bathrooms.

"You think Nate stopped whatever they had stowed," Jerry whispered to his brother, who responded in a slight shrug and grim expression.

"Either way, we need to keep an eye on these jokers. They might just decide to take the plane anyway."

Jerry nodded in agreement and looked over at the whispering men, who glanced in their direction. Thinking quickly, the blonde gave them his trademark heartbreaker smile, a gesture they didn't return, but instead split up, two of them heading for the stairs to first class. Jerry nodded to his brother when he was sure they weren't looking, and Ben nodded back in silent understanding, getting up and surreptitiously following the two mercs. Jerry stood up ten seconds later and strode up to the last man, who was trying to stand near the bathroom and look unsuspicious, as if he were waiting for the stall to become vacant. Jerry stacked up behind him as if he had to go as well, then glanced at the status indicator on the door, reading in clear green letters, "vacant."

The merc turned around to glance at him, and the blonde Brit smiled at him cheekily, each of them suddenly understanding that they had been made. Jerry opened his mouth to say something smart when a rumble suddenly rocked the plane, throwing them both off balance slightly. Bloody hell! Jerry recovered a second sooner than the merc, and used the other man's bent-over posture to drive a knee into the side of his jaw hard, throwing his head back against the door of the stall, instantly knocking him unconscious as two others stood up from their seats in coach. They each drew what looked like plastic guns from the inside pockets of their jackets and pointed them in his direction. He ducked behind the wall around the corner of the stall a second before they started shooting.

The hell did they get those? Bullets ripped into the wall as other passengers shrieked and screamed, one of the mercs delivering a hard backhand to a nearby seated woman. Jerry fumed in sudden rage and fumbled with something in his pocket, slipping a small device over his right palm and tightening the strap that held it in place. When they seemed to run out of ammo, he popped out of cover and flexed his hand, causing a light whine for a split-second before a beam of force caught one of the mercs dead center. His shocked partner gaped at his fallen comrade for a moment before snapping the slide of his pistol shut. He didn't get the chance to fire, as Jerry dispatched him the same way as the other man. Can't believe I didn't ask Nate for one of these sooner.

The Brit examined his palm and saw a small, round device sitting there, secured by a strap that went around the back of his hand. His mind darted back to their prep meeting as he made his way to the other coach compartment, assuming to find more terrorists waiting for him there.

…

Sixteen hours earlier

Russia

"Jerry, your job is to maintain order in coach. The lower-level mercs will likely be stationed there to keep the rabble in line."

Jerry looked at Nathan, his professional pride hurt. "So, what, you think I can't handle the higher-ups, or somethin'?"

Ben rolled his eyes and Nathan shook his head slightly. "Hardly. I know you can, but the two of you need to secure both levels simultaneously to prevent the terrorists from taking hostages, and since Trax will want to be as close to the cockpit as possible, he'll be in first class, surrounded by his inner circle. Since your expertise lies in long-range fighting, I figure the best person to send into those close quarters would be Ben."

Jerry opened his mouth to argue the point further, but stopped, thinking it over. One of his eyebrows raised as he realized it actually made sense. He nodded grudgingly and stepped back, still feeling a bit slighted. His brother ignored him as he asked Nathan about his role.

"You'll be heading up to first class, like I said, while I secure the cargo hold and any other surprises the enemy might be keeping to spring on us and the passengers. Here," he said, reaching toward his desk to grab two small, watch-like devices. "These are Stark P-10 Portable Repulsors, or PRs. Not quite the same kick as the armor-mounted ones, because of their size, but should still be enough to injure and knock out normal opponents, as well as...severely jolt any armored or metahumans you come across. This is AIM we're dealing with, so expect high-tech with a side of nasty."

The two brothers nodded and took their new toys as Nathan explained how to use them. "They're designed to look like watches, and comprised of about the same material, with a few variations that'll be all but undetectable to normal airport security equipment. If you press the 'light' button in the center, it'll activate the watch's repulsor function, and all you'll have to do to bring the pain is mount the center on your palm and flex your hand."

The brothers followed his instructions as they mounted them and test-fired the PRs at a few practice dummies, getting used to the slight recoil and strange aiming system.

"They'll take some getting used to, but," Ben said with a smile, "I think we'll do just fine."

Nathan nodded. "I know you will."

…

Present

U.S. airspace, 20 miles from New York City

Ben stormed up the stairs, mounting his PR and preparing himself to enter combat. When he reached the top, he spotted the two mercs from before and lunged forward to slam one of their heads against a wall, knocking him out. His partner tried to engage him in close quarters, but there were few that could take the brown-haired Brit on his turf. After about fifteen seconds of CQC, Ben spun clockwise and delivered a spinning elbow to the other man's jaw, the sheer force of it snapping it loose before he pivoted back and drove a right cross into the man's nose. As his unconscious body hit the floor, Ben slowly drew back one of the curtains separating him from the rest of first class.

The Brit grit his teeth as he saw Trax and three other mercs leveling guns at the passengers while another merc beat the onboard Air Marshall senseless. Enough of this shit. He raised his palm and sniped the terrorist laying on the pain, shattering his right shoulder as the beam slammed into him from behind. Tracing the source of the shot, Trax and his bodyguards fired through the curtain repeatedly, missing their target by mere inches as Ben ducked behind solid cover. He was about to snap out and take another shot when the curtain leading to the rear of the plane swept open and two mercs stared at him, agape. Before either of them could fire, Ben was lunging toward them, his PR slamming the midsection of one as his left hand redirected the barrel of the second man's firing gun toward the ground. Dispensing with all finesse, Ben right hooked him in the lower ribs, then rolled behind him, spinning as he came up to blast his torso.

As Ben checked the compartment for any other threats, he noticed the numerous terrified passengers and spoke to them all reassuringly.

"It's all right, people. I'm here to help. Just stay calm, all of you." Turning back toward the curtain, he stepped forward, the tension in his body rising to a fever pitch as he stepped through and found the barrel of a gun pointed directly at his head.

…

Jerry had just finished securing coach when he felt the plane lurch and turn suddenly. The PA system activated, and a sharp tenor voice sounded over it.

"Whoever is in the lower deck, busy taking out my men, I suggest you relinquish your weapons and come quietly. We have your partner, and we are not afraid to execute him, along with the passengers, if you refuse to comply. You have ten seconds to ascend the stairs unarmed."

Panic struck Jerry's system like nothing else. They had his brother. There was no way he was going to leave him to die, but as he turned over the circumstances in his head, he realized that Nathan still hadn't shown up yet. Whatever that rumble from a minute before was, he had a sinking feeling that it had claimed his friend's life. With Ben captured and Nathan missing, Jerry was the last line of defense for the passengers and the terrorists' intended target. Though he logically figured that if he gave himself up, they were all dead anyway, Jerry just couldn't leave his brother to die, even if it only meant extending his life a few more minutes.

When the intercom countdown reached three, he was already at the top of the stairs, coming up hands-first, his palm devoid of the portable repulsor. Failure and shame washed over him as they roughly grabbed him, shoving him toward the front of the plane and his hostage brother. He sat next to his twin and scowled at the ground, sinking into despair as they waited to die.

…

Two minutes earlier

Wind rushed past Nathan's head as he fell through the air, the plane become smaller and smaller with each passing second. Turning his head, he spotted the merc he had taken with him just in time to stop his knife arm, the larger man slamming into Nathan midair and wrapping his legs around his hips, causing them both to spin as he prevented him from pushing away and tried to stab the struggling teen. In the middle of their struggle, Nathan focused his thoughts on the plane, specifically on something on the plane. He focused harder, feeling the slight tingle in his left arm that happened every time he connected successfully, and smiled nastily as the knife-point got closer to his shoulder, knowing he only had to hold him back a few more seconds.

The merc took his smile as a grimace and grinned malevolently, triumph ringing in his blood as they fell toward the Atlantic at an alarming speed. Nathan's eyes locked with his, and for a moment, the terrorist was startled at their calm, confident feel. Nathan felt the tingling intensify until his entire left arm seemed to be bathed in gentle electricity and smiled. Game over, a-hole. A silver faceplate slammed into the merc's face and caused his body to go limp as he was instantly knocked unconscious, releasing Nathan as the teen spread his arms and legs sky-diver style. The air resistance slowed him down enough for him to concentrate harder, watching the merc's body fall as the faceplate lifted off his face and flew back up toward him.

At the same time, he felt a firm impact on his back as something attached itself to him and began to grow, knitting together several parts over his back, chest, legs, and arms, another piece encasing all of his head save his face. When the faceplate found its place on his body, the HUD of his Mark V armor activated, along with the rest of his systems. Both palms pointed downward, and he felt a sudden brake occur as his flight stabilizers slowed him down, the rest of his thrusters kicking in, slowing him down and allowing him to hover calmly as the merc's unconscious body slammed into the ocean, breaking it as surely as if it were hitting asphalt.

Clenching his fists, Silver Knight kept hovering for a moment as he got a feel for his armor again, the repurposed Mark 42 accommodating him, its jetpack attachment balancing his hover. His head and eyes turned back up toward the plane, and he kicked his thrusters into overdrive, launching himself toward the commercial jet. As he approached the plane two minutes later, he was thankful that the cargo hold had been sealed when he popped the airlock, as the sudden decrease in cabin pressure would have destabilized the plane and likely sent it into a crash-landing. His armor's onboard systems tapped into the plane's security cameras and PA system, and his heart skipped a beat when he spotted Jerry and Ben.

Damn. I should've gone for that airlock at the beginning of the fight. Knight knew he would never forgive himself if they were harmed because of his delay, and as a result pushed his thrusters harder, entering the plane through the still-open cargo hold, hovering over to the door to the cabin and pausing a moment before acting. Gotta make this quick. And he did, quickly opening the door and slipping through the portal, closing it behind him to keep the internal pressure stable. As he checked the security feeds again, he could tell the terrorists hadn't noticed his entry, and looped the camera feeds to prevent them from spotting him on the cameras. Since they had everyone staying stock-still, it wasn't that hard to make the looped feed believable.

"Jarvis, give me a head-count of the remaining terrorists."

"Yes sir." A flurry of symbols and red dots showed up on his HUD, showing him the position and approximate armament of the conscious enemies above him. About a dozen plus two left out of at least twenty-two. Good going, guys. His confident smile faded as he looked at Trax and frowned slightly. The readings he was getting from Trax showed that he had the same weapon as the rest of his men, but there was a weird energy signature coming from his person. His eyes narrowed as he mentally ran down the list of possible explanations, but was snapped out of his thoughts as his suit's proximity alarm sounded.

Flashing his eyes to a corner of his HUD, he pulled up the full alert and stared as he saw where they were: less than ten miles outside of New York airspace. He strode toward the stairs in the center of the plane, all but ignoring the gaping stares from the passengers as his armor carried him forward, only holding his right index finger to his faceplate's "lips." As his hand grasped the rail of the staircase, he mentally reviewed his current armaments. S-41 Strikers on shoulder, along with E-10 Hydras. B-75 machine pistol on right arm, with E-20s on both undersides. D-750 HE cutter on the left arm. Flares, repulsors. All set.

His armor showed two enemies directly above him, and he programmed his repulsors for precise shots that would pierce the ceiling above him just far enough to hit them, but not far enough to tear a hole in the plane. His fingers flexed and his palms flared with energy, releasing the repulsor beams a second later. As he heard the bodies hit the floor, he leapt up the stairs, the heavy metal sending loud thumps in his wake. He jetted toward the back of the plane and slammed into two mercs, braking to let them fly into the rear wall of first class, then turning to his left and firing a repulsor at another who raised his gun at him. Three semi-automatic rounds pinged off his shoulder plating, and Silver Knight raised his right palm, blasting him backward into a bunch of hastily vacated seats.

By now, the men in the front of the plane were alerted to another enemy, and Trax sent two of his bodyguards to check it out with three other men for backup. As Knight looked at his HUD, he saw a new energy signature coming from one of the bodyguards and his eyes widened in response. Oh crap. He dashed sideways as a Chitauri plasma round burned through the curtain and slammed into the wall behind him, the bodyguard toting the arm-mounted weapon and dialing up to fire again. Nathan raised a repulsor to finish him, but his arm was hit by another plasma round, charring the silver-and-blue metal where it impacted and slamming the appendage backward. Two more rounds slammed into Nathan's chestplate, knocking him backward before his jetpack kicked in and stabilized him.

He raised both arms and blasted the two bodyguards backward, bullets pinging off his armor from the three remaining soldiers as he flew toward them, smashing into one and landing to grab the barrel of another's gun, shoving his weapon back into his face as he gripped the neck of the other and threw him into his friend. He turned back to the front of the plane and stepped through the half-shredded curtain, spotting the two remaining bodyguards standing eight feet in front of their boss on either side, using Ben and Jerry as human shields. Nathan barely gave them a glance before assigning red targeting crosshairs on both their heads, deploying his Strikers a second later. The weapons fired two high-velocity rounds with clinical precision, killing both terrorists simultaneously and leaving smoke trails with erratic trajectories in their wake.

The twins turned around, staring at their dead captors for a second before looking at Nathan.

"That trick never gets old," Jerry said flippantly.

Nathan nodded at him and strode toward them, his eyes suddenly locked on Trax, who seemed hardly impressed, and rather a bit annoyed instead of afraid or even resigned. Nate's eyes narrowed as he stopped behind the brothers, all of them focused on him as they appropriated weapons from their dead captors.

"It's over," Silver Knight told the merc leader in a distorted, metallic voice. Trax just smiled and clenched his empty left fist, dropping the gun in his right hand as his left ring finger pressed something in his sleeve. "No!" Nathan screamed as he raised both hands and fired his repulsors. What? In the wake of his attack, Trax had been thrown back with twice the force of Knight's repulsors, putting a sizeable dent in the door to the cockpit, and he was not only conscious but still smiling. Tell me he doesn't have Extremis.

He didn't, but as Knight found out a moment later, he had something much worse. Trax's hands were encased in a charcoal-black metal, and reached over to his shoulders to tear his trenchcoat off, revealing a black-and-green suit of power armor that vaguely reminded him of Titanium Man. A skull-shaped helmet expanded from the chestpiece and encased his head, the design of it alone sending chills down Nathan's spine. When he stepped forward, Nathan heard a dark echo of the same sound he made whenever he walked in-armor. Stunned as he was, Silver Knight barely had enough presence of mind to activate his suit's energy shields before Trax raised his right arm and fired something at him with what looked like an arm-mounted crossbow.

The projectile slammed into him, the shield mitigating most of the damage but allowing him to be jarred and thrown to the back of the plane nonetheless. Ben and Jerry dove for cover behind the seats as the passengers did the same, most of them shrieking incoherently. Laughing in a grating, metallic way behind his helmet, Trax disarmed the crossbow and snapped his right arm outward, causing a charged, whip-like weapon to emerge. Even from the back of the plane, Nathan could see what was happening and felt a chill pass through him. Who is this guy, and where the hell did he get that suit?

Trax swept his right arm in an arc, causing the plasma lash to slice through the tops of every seat on the plane's four front rows. Ben and Jerry popped out of cover every few seconds to take persistent but useless shots at him, moving constantly and staying on opposite sides of the cabin. Trax raised his left arm and clenched his fist, deploying a cannon of some sort from the top of his arm. Struggling to get to his feet, Knight flew toward the front of the plane, trying in vain to stop Trax from firing that weapon. Several rounds of concentrated energy flashed from the gun in rapid-fire, burning foot-deep holes wherever they went. Ben took a shot at Trax, and the terrorist immediately fired at him, the energy shot instead impacting with Silver Knight's right arm as the armored hero pointed his left repulsor at the armored merc.

The blast shoved Trax backward a step, but he quickly readjusted and slung his whip at Knight. The lash wrapped around his right arm, sending a burst of electricity through it even through the armor's insulation and shielding. Nathan groaned in pain, but had enough presence of mind to lunge forward, using his thrusters to pin Trax to the wall of the cabin. Untangling his arm from the lash, Nathan drove his fist into the other man's helmet repeatedly, then kept one hand on his neck while the other pointed its palm at his head.

"Who gave you this suit? Who?!" The creepily smiling face of the helmet stared back at him silently as Trax drove his knee into Nathan's midsection, then hooked him in the head. The two engaged hand-to-hand for ten seconds before coming to a stalemate, Nathan locking Trax's left arm in his right and Trax pinning his left the the wall with his shoulder, where his palm repulsors couldn't fire at him. His suit's auditory enhancers fed a message from the cockpit to him: alter your course or be shot down.

Nathan's eyes widened as he remembered the security contingencies that had been instituted after 9/11. If this plane doesn't go back on course, the Air Force will just shoot us down. Knight turned his head toward the brothers as he looked out the window and saw the New York skyline staring up at him from barely two miles away. "Ben! Cockpit!" The brown-haired brother nodded and sprinted for the half caved-in door. Trax struggled anew and slammed his left elbow into Nathan's side before he raised his left arm at Ben and fired. A single energy bolt struck him in the back and burned straight through his lower midsection, sending him falling straight forward with a shriek of pain.

"No!" Nathan and Jerry yelled in unison as the former rerouted massive power to his jetpack and flew toward the opposite wall, smashing Trax face-first against the forward airlock. Jerry ran toward his fallen brother with desperation and dragged him into the cockpit, away from Trax and Nathan as he realized what his friend was about to do. "Everybody grab onto something!" The terrified passengers complied and held onto whatever was within reach as Nathan's armored hand gripped the red release lever and yanked hard, once again sucked into the air while holding an enemy.

Once they were airborne, Nathan threw him away and fired both repulsors into his back, arming virtually all his weapons in a rage. His B-75 laid down 4mm rounds at 200 rounds a minute, peppering Trax's armor with withering fire. The armored merc powered up his own thrusters and rose through the air to meet him, his left arm spitting green energy at Silver Knight. The young Stark dodged and weaved, avoiding the worst of the salvo as he continued his assault on Trax, jetting toward him and tackling him through the air as his missile warning systems alerted him to the release of an air-to-air missile from almost a mile away.

Oh shit! The Air Force! Letting Trax go and pounding him with both repulsors, Knight let him fall and instead took off in the direction of the missile's trajectory. As he saw it come into view, his HUD locked onto it with a Striker, and he fired once, the high-velocity round detonating the Sidewinder prematurely. His armor hacked into the communication system on the F-15 that fired it, and he began to yell desperately at the pilot.

"Stand down, stand down! The plane is no longer hijacked!" A burst of static came over the channel before the pilot responded.

"This is a restricted military channel. Who are you and how do you know about that plane?"

"Look out your left window, 'top gun'!" He waited a few seconds before sending a single repulsor beam right past the jet's cockpit. "Enough explanation for you?"

"M-Mister Stark?"

"Yes," he answered hurriedly, knowing full well the pilot thought he was his father. "Now if you'd break off your attack, I'd really appreciate it. There are a lot of civilians on that flight, and I have a friend who's rerouting the plane as we speak. Do not shoot it down." Another pause. When the pilot finally answered, Nathan couldn't hear him, as a high-explosive, high-velocity crossbow round tore through his left wing, sending him into a downward spiral toward the New York skyline. His heart skipping a beat, Nathan jetted toward the falling plane and activated his high-energy cutter, the laser's blue beam cutting open the release mechanism on the cockpit as he reached the pilot, pulling the lever to eject him.

An instant later, the pilot's parachute deployed and he floated harmlessly toward a nearby building. Satisfied that he would be okay, Silver Knight turned his attention to the source of the crash and saw Trax flying toward him, plasma whip already in motion. The lash wrapped itself around his torso, and Trax flew just past him to yank him into the side of a building, jarring Nathan repeatedly. His power systems were starting to buckle under the strain of energy running through the armor's systems, and he fired his repulsors desperately, activating his thrusters to try and throw off Trax's flight pattern. It worked, and together they landed on a nearby skyscraper, Nathan rolling as he hit the ground, Trax landing hard and bouncing a few times before rolling to a stop.

They both got to their feet and faced off, each sizing the other up for a few moments before springing to action. They dueled with weapons, with their hands, with every fiber and skill they had, each taking major damage over the next two minutes as they wore each other out. Trax raised his left arm and deployed the plasma SMG, but Knight grabbed the cannon and deployed his cutter, altering the polarity of the beam so that it widened at the source and came to a point, acting as a melee weapon as he slashed it through the connection of the cannon to Trax's arm. Nathan drove his left elbow backward into Trax's now-dented helmet, then threw him over his shoulder and diverted all power to the unibeam, blasting him dead-center as the merc tried to get to his feet, disabling the armor and ending the fight.

…

Jerry struggled at the pilot's controls as his half-conscious brother talked him through crash-landing 101. The blonde's teeth gritted in concentration as he reached for the intercom button and told the passengers to prepare for impact. With a massive shudder, the large plane smacked down on the surface of the Hudson River, one mile out in the bay, sliding across the water to a gentle halt as it floated above the surface. Jerry let out a long breath of relief as his brother smiled at him with blood-flecked lips. We made it. He looked at his twin, holding his hand as Ben's eyes fluttered and closed as he slipped into shock-driven unconsciousness, his job done.

Jerry summoned all the passengers to the top deck and got one of the flight attendants to help carry and bandage up his brother, fear gripping him as he realized Ben might not make it. The plane's occupants, with the exception of Jerry, all cheered and shouted for joy as the five Coast Guard boats sped toward them, ending their airborne nightmare once and for all as their savior silently wept for his brother.

...

His armor ruined and all but destroyed, Trax raised his right arm weakly as Nathan stormed over to him and ripped his helmet off. The kid glared at Trax from behind his faceplate, scowling deeply in barely contained rage as he leveled his right palm with the merc's unprotected head, ready to fire his repulsor at point-blank range.

"You don't deserve to live," Silver Knight hissed out menacingly, his teeth clenching as what little restraint he had left kept him from flexing his hand and just being done with it. Suddenly, he relaxed, still seething but knowing exactly what he needed to do. "But I need you to talk. Where did you get the armor?" Silence. He gripped Trax's left arm in his and put his right on another end, using the elbow as a pivot point to bend it in the wrong direction. Trax shrieked in agony as Nathan broke his arm. "Where?! Who gave it to you?!" Knight was about to start on the other arm when the terrorist finally broke.

"Archer!"

Nathan stared at him, stock-still as he racked his brain for any record or mention of that name, coming up empty. "Who is he?" Trax shook his head, his face showing true fear for the first time. "Who. Is. He?"

"I don't know! Nobody does."

Nathan was about to ask him more when he noticed the merc's eyes flutter and his vitals drop as he passed out in shock. The Silver Knight sighed deeply as reality came flooding back to him, and he barely turned his head when the SHIELD Quinjet hovered in front of him, telling him to stand down.

…

Two hours later

After sorting out Trax and his mercs, Nathan was taken to Avengers Tower, where the SHIELD personnel on site held him, still armored, still pondering what Trax had told him, along with everything else that had happened. The passengers are okay. New York's okay. Jerry's all right, but Ben… He shook his head, regret and failure predominant in his feelings. Sacrifice a few to save the many. Always thought that was the biggest load of bull sh-

"Long time no see."

Nathan's eyes suddenly went wide as they slowly traveled upward to see who he knew was standing there. Right there, four feet in front of him, in a business suit and his trademark goatee, was Anthony Edward Stark.

"Dad," he asked, almost breathlessly.

Tony nodded slowly, and Nathan's heart almost stopped when his father smiled at him. Immediately, he concentrated on the armor and dismissed it, the silver and gray suit detaching from him as he fiercely embraced his father, that single gesture giving all the apologies and explanations he had planned on giving for so long. For the next five minutes, Nathan found himself unable to speak as he cried emphatically, for the first time in months, if not over a year. In the firm but gentle embrace that held him back, the kid could feel that his father forgave him for...everything that had happened. When they broke apart, Nathan wiped his eyes and laughed with his father at the sheer hysterics of it all.

"Come on," Tony said with a grin, "you're coming with me to get a good old-fashioned American hot dog."

Nathan nodded emphatically, still unable to speak, his hands stuffed in his pockets as Tony's arm encircled his shoulder. A gentle smile was the only outward manifestation of the euphoria he felt now that he was back with family. I had no idea how much I would miss this. Miss him. And now, even after everything I did to him, he forgave me. Nathan had a feeling Tony had forgiven him a long time ago. I can't wait to see Mom. She's probably gonna chew me out for leaving like that. He grinned. Hell, she's definitely going to chew me out. His smile faded as he thought to other matters.

So...Archer. That armor came from someone or thing named Archer. I have nothing else to go on except a name, probably an alias. Hell, might not even be a person. He shook his head slightly. Whatever the case, I get the feeling Archer knew I was gonna be on that flight, and planned accordingly, which means… His eyes went slightly wider. Oh gosh. He knows who I am, that I'm the Silver Knight. When that realization hit him, Nathan suddenly felt something he hadn't in a long time: true, unadulterated, unfettered fear for his life. He knows who I am, and chances are, he's gonna try something again.

He looked to his side to see Tony staring at him concernedly. "What's wrong?"

Nathan shook his head slightly. "Nothing, Dad. Just...realizing the gravity of the world I've stepped into."

Tony nodded his head in understanding and looked forward again as Nathan stared into the distance. And the gigantic trouble I'm in.


End file.
